


Pride Warrior

by ZhadowSpear



Series: The Warrior and The Witcher [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragons, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27593576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZhadowSpear/pseuds/ZhadowSpear
Summary: Destiny. What a fickle thing. Neither of them quite believed in it, until the unexpected occurred and they were forced to face its' reality. Both of them were tangled deep in its' web, with no chance for escape. Now, their only option is to accept destiny's call or face the consequences of ignoring it.This work follows the events of season one of The Witcher.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Warrior and The Witcher [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017172
Kudos: 15





	1. Crimson

“Fuck.”

It was all she could say before the monster came leaping out of the underbrush, intent to kill her, teeth bared, foaming at the mouth out of hunger. She rolled out of the way, luckily stopping near her swords, though she cursed herself for not keeping them next to her. Unsheathing both weapons, she jumped to her feet and prepared to face the creature that had awoken her. The pale whites of its eyes reflected the light of the dying fire. _An Alghoul_. Now visible to her, its ghastly skin illuminated slightly by the fire, revealed the entirety of its bare, mangled form. The warrior took note of its appearance, as well as the strangeness of its presence. The Alghoul was alone, no ghoul back-up, and they were nowhere near a graveyard or battlefield either. _Odd._ It took a moment to register that she had escaped its jaws before it attacked her again. This time she was ready. Holding her ground until the last possible second, she dodged the necrophage’s lunge while simultaneously slashing upwards with her swords, one steel, the other magically enhanced silver. The monster’s shrill cry was cut off as its head was detached from its body, landing at the warrior’s feet. Releasing a breath, she returned her weapons and picked up an empty sack next to them. Striding back over to the head, she grabbed it by the ear, shoving it in the sack, collecting a few samples of marrow as well, hoping there might be a bounty for the items in the city she was heading towards.

Now that _that_ had been dealt with, she rekindled the fire, before returning to the remains of the body. Deciding it was too much to take with her, she opted to remove it from her campsite, lest its presence attract more unsavory characters from within the forest. Finding a nearby swamp, she dumped it, watching, satisfied, as it sank under the surface of the murky water, disappearing into the mud. Making her way back to camp, she moved her swords to lie next to her before falling, slowly, into another restless sleep.

-

Dawn crept over the horizon, waking the slumbering woman. Groaning as the first trickles of sunlight hit her face, she was grateful that she had been able to spend the rest of her night uninterrupted. Reluctantly getting up from her bedroll, she began to pack up her camp, kicking apart the remains of the fire, as well as covering the rest of her tracks, she packed everything onto her black gelding, Zhadow, who had been undisturbed by the events of last night, as usual. Saddling him up, and checking she had erased her presence from the small clearing, she mounted Zhadow and headed back towards the main road.

Zhadow ambled his way into town, the warrior guiding him away from the crowds in the market in search of a stable and inn. Many townspeople spared her odd glances as she led him to the nearby stablehand, dropping a few coins into his waiting hand.

“He needs to be cleaned and taken care of for the night,” her low, semi-gruff voice explained to the boy, who only nodded in return. Taking her things off Zhadow’s back, including the stinking head and marrow, she whispered,” Behave, Zhadow. I’ll return for you in the morning.”

She took note of the only other horse in the stable, a brown mare, heavy with the weight of what looked (and smelled) like the carcass of a Kikimora. _Interesting._ Turning in the direction of the tavern, she pulled her hood down further before venturing in, hoping to find a coin reward for the Alghoul and the marrow. More judgemental looks were thrown her way, now that she carried strange items, one of which reeked of something awful, and dead. Upon entering the tavern, she immediately took notice of the uncomfortable silence and followed everyone’s scared eyes to the cause. His back was turned to her, but even that was intimidating, considering not only his height but the bulk of his muscular black-armored figure.

“Isadora!” The innkeeper came around the bar counter, shooing off the woman previously hidden by the stranger’s large torso,” We don’t want your kind here, Witcher.”

She was kind of glad her entrance had gone unnoticed, especially if this was the kind of greeting she was to expect.

“The alderman,” the Witcher’s voice replied, low and raspy, but not angry,” Tell me where he is, and I’ll be on my way.”

“You don’t give the orders around here you mutant son of a bitch,” A new voice joined the fray, a smaller man, though similarly bulky.

The innkeeper agreed,” Hear that? Go. On your own or at the end of a rope, your choice.”

“Not a hard choice.”

Sensing that things were only going to get worse from here, she made her presence known. Silently slipping past the Witcher, the rustle of her cloak behind her the only indication she had moved at all, who turned to watch her, curious. She was covered head to toe in black, her combat boots leather, pants made of similar material, but the most interesting aspect of her ensemble were the two swords crossed on her back. One plain, made from steel, and the other humming with a slight amount of magic energy and composed of gleaming silver. She approached the innkeeper, voice lowering in a silent threat, placing the decapitated head on the counter,” I would also like to speak to the alderman, so directions would be appreciated, _sir_.”

“Yeah?” The innkeeper looked aghast. She only glared in response, the acrid scent of fear filled her nose as the innkeeper gulped under the weight of her stare.

“Fuck that,” the other man responded before the innkeeper could reply,” Anyone who hides under their hood like that-”

“Can you not leave it alone for a moment?” A strong, feminine, voice interrupted. Whipping her head around to face the new interferer, the warrior noticed the Witcher do the same.

“They can’t be trusted,” the innkeeper replied, clearly in contempt to whomever this woman is. 

“I’m not speaking to you,” The unidentified woman turned her gaze on the warrior and Witcher,” I apologize for my man’s interference in your day. Hopefully, he can improve his behavior by tomorrow’s market.”

“Sorry, Renfri,” he turned back to the table he must have been sitting at,” Come on, lads.”

The woman, Renfri, returned to her plate,” Beer for my friends here and one for me.”

The innkeeper didn’t move, his face hardening into a glare, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I am speaking to you now, good sir.”

The innkeeper grunted before leaving and returning with three mugs, reluctantly filling each with beer. Renfri turned back to the two warriors,” Want some breakfast?”

The Witcher, hood now down, revealing silvery-white hair, replied simply,” I’m full. Venison.”

The warrior didn’t reply at all, only sipped solemnly at the offered ale. Hood still lowered, head still reeking next to her on the counter, the vials of marrow tucked into a pocket inside her cloak. Renfri didn’t seem to take her lack of reply poorly, only drank her beer in one gulp, and continued to speak with the Witcher.

“My mother, God rest her, would be mortified.”

“Our secret then.”

The warrior, though not truly paying much attention to them, could tell the Witcher’s lip had quirked up to the side as he made the remark, by the tone of his voice. Despite being slightly curious about the direction of the conversation, she simply focused on finishing her drink so she could leave and (hopefully) get some coin from the beast that disturbed her rest. This train of thought was disrupted, however, by the innkeeper slamming down a tankard of ale in front of Renfri before stalking off. Renfri’s eyes followed him for a moment as she picked up the jug and made her way over to the two of them. The warrior finally tuned back in as Renfri grabbed both their empty mugs and refilled them, looking at the two meaningfully,” More and more, I find monsters wherever I go.”

Before the warrior could be subjected to more interaction with humans, she slipped out and made her way back to her horse. Tipped the stableboy a bit more coin, and repacked Zhadow with the items she had taken with her in hopes of sleeping under a roof tonight.

“Change of plans, Zhadow,” his reins now untied from the post,” Looks like we’ll be roughing it again tonight.”

Zhadow vocally shared his discontent. As she finished getting ready to leave, she was joined by the Witcher, who attended to the mare carrying the Kikimora’s corpse, a young girl at his side.

“You don’t scare me.”

“That’s too bad,” the Witcher replied.

“And I can also tell you that my father will have no use for this beast.”

“Your father, the alderman? He posted a flier.”

“For a graveir. Kikimoras are useful. Population control.”

The Witcher remained impassive,” Hm.”

“You should speak to Master Irion, our wizard. He’s willing to pay for odds and ends he needs for elixirs. I sold him our dog when it died. Mysteriously.”

The warrior’s head perked up at this, thinking that maybe this Master Irion would offer coin for her beast as well. 

“Fine. Take me to him.”

“I got fifteen crowns for the yappy mutt. That's enough to buy some new clothes, just saying.”

“Hm,” The Witcher grabbed the mare’s reins,” Come on, Roach.”

The warrior grabbed her own steed’s reins and turned to the two,” Can take me there as well? I have a recently killed Alghoul I’d like to get off my hands.”

The Witcher turned to her, almost as if registering her presence for the first time, the girl simply nodded, more focused on the giant brute than her, which the warrior didn’t mind. Taking that as an invitation, she joined them on the side opposite to the Witcher as the young girl talked his ear off, wanting to hear of the monsters he had killed.

“Have you ever killed a succubus? A striga? Werewolf? She-wolf?”

“That’s not a thing,” they answered in unison, before staring inquisitively at each other. The Witcher took notice that even though he could feel her gaze, her eyes were carefully obscured by her hood. The girl simply continued her rambling as they walked through the town.

“So you’ve killed the rest? I think that makes you a hero. My mother says you’re the offspring of foul sorcery, a diabolic creation, a filthy degenerate born of Hell”-this earned a quiet snort from the warrior, not unheard by the Witcher-” Have you ever been to Hell? I’ve never even left Blaviken. Because my mother’s never left Blaviken, and if it’s good enough for Libushe, then it’s good enough for Marilka. That’s my name Marilka. Like milk. What’s yours?”

“Geralt,” came the Witcher’s curt reply.

“Like garroter? Nice. And what about you?”

Both of their gazes landed on their silent walking companion, who didn’t even turn to acknowledge the girl had spoken. The Witcher, too, was curious about the identity of the mysterious woman who had stood up to the innkeeper.

“Naz.”

“ _Naz?_ Never heard a name like that before.”

The warrior offered no reply for any form of clarification about the strangeness of her name. The girl, unperturbed, turned back to questioning the Witcher, now identified as Geralt.

“Where are you from, Geralt?”

“Rivia.”

“I don’t know where that is, but I could learn if you’d let me.”

“No.”

“Because I’m a girl and girls can’t be Witchers. Which I think is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Both Geralt and Naz huffed in amusement at the Marilka’s contempt.

“I want more. I have to be more, because I don’t know what to do in Blaviken for the rest of my life, except go to the boring old market.”

“And kill rats.” A sentiment Naz didn’t understand, but knew must mean something to the two of them.

“And dogs. Here we are.”

Before the three of them stood a tower, various plants, and underbrush creeping up along the stone walls, a large wooden door leading inside. The Witcher held out the reins of his horse to Marilka,” Hold Roach, be nice.”

“Hey, Roach.”

Naz followed suit, handing off Zhadow’s reins so she could grab her bounty and follow Geralt. Tucking the head under her arm, she joined Geralt at the door, stopping next to him, also sensing the magic radiating outward. They both turned back to Marilka and the horses, the smile she sent them doing nothing to ease either of their nerves. They turned toward each other, and in that moment Geralt swore he saw a flash of red where Naz’s eyes should be. Shaking it off, the two of them walked through the door.

Upon entering the tower, they were greeted with a well-lit garden being tended to by dozens of naked women. A cherry blossom tree floated in the middle of the room, and the various fruit trees scattered about the grounds were being harvested by the women. Naz immediately became uneased by the illusion, less inclined to meet this Master Irion by the second. Turning to their right, an older gentleman strode towards them, leaning heavily on a staff as he ambled forward.

“Greetings. I’m Stregobor. Master Stregobor. Sorcerer.”

“I have a Kikimora for Master Irion,” Geralt replied, instantly suspicious, noticing Naz also become even more alert if that were possible.

“Yes, well, forgive the confusion. Irion created this tower, but he’s been dead two hundred years. So, in order to honor him, I’ve taken his name as my personal sobriquet.”

“Hm,” Geralt observed the room once more,” He create this illusion, too?”

“No,” Stregobor chuckled,” This is, uh… this is… my own creation. Helps pass the time more delightfully.”

“Because you’re in hiding,” Naz observed, gaze boring into Stregobor, though he could not see her eyes, he felt her glare. Geralt turned to her for a moment, surprised at her input to the conversation, though he had come to the same conclusion.

“How very clever of you,” Stregobor acknowledged, uneased by her presence, before returning his attention to Geralt,” Not often do we see your likeness here in Blaviken, Witcher.”

“Not many of my likeness left,” Geralt replied, and though his tone was even, Naz could tell that there was a hefty weight to that statement. Stregobor continued, leading them further into the tower’s garden, unaware of the pain in Geralt’s microexpressions.

“Hm. I’d offer you my condolences, but I seem to remember that Witchers don’t feel anything"- A fact Naz knew humans made up to justify hating Witchers, anything to make them like the monsters they hunt, she reasoned-" I’m grateful destiny brought you to me.”

“Marilka brought us to you.”

“Oh, Marilka. Marilka works for me. Now and then. On matters of great import.”

Naz’s voice rang true again, her tone accusatory,” A reclusive sorcerer who uses an alias and hires a young girl to procure him a Witcher? You don’t want an Alghoul or a Kikimora, you want Geralt to kill _your_ monster.”

Stregobor looked shocked for a moment, but ultimately regained his composure, ever curious as to who is under that hood,” Very clever, indeed.”

“What kind?” Geralt inquired, growing ever intrigued by the mysterious woman who killed an Alghoul and hides her face. After a moment more of studying Naz, Stregobor turned to Geralt, his expression, for once, serious,” The worst kind. The _human_ kind. Its name is Renfri.”

“Hm.”

-

In the marketplace of Cintra, four boys and a girl played Knucklebones for a loaf of bread. Korin was currently attempting to win, unfortunately, the last one hit the ground before he could catch it,” Damn it. Go on, Martin.”

Martin takes the pieces to make his attempt, and is successful in catching them all,” Ah, five.”

“Yeah,” the other boys reply, already handing over the loaf.

“Not yet,” the girl, Ciri, intervened. Martin scoffed.

“There’s no way you can get five.”

Ciri looked at him, determined,” You’re not taking a bite of that bread before I try.”

Ciri took the pieces from Martin, prepping for her turn.

“Better throw those knuckles,” Martin pressured. Korin pushing Ciri further,” Go on then.”

Ciri felt eyes on her, distracting her from using the technique that her grandfather taught her that would have guaranteed her to win. Turning to look in the direction she felt the gaze, only to become confused by the absence of anyone in that corner of the courtyard. She returned her attention to the game, only to be further distracted by the pounding of hooves in the distance, signaling the approach of the royal guard. Ciri attempted to focus but ultimately missed as the Knights of Cintra, accompanied by Naz, slowed to a halt next to the group.

“Told ya,” Martin then noticed the guards,” I didn’t steal the bread. Korin did!”- He grabbed the pelt they had been playing on, and began to hurry away with the rest of the boys-” Quick! Quick!”

Korin, however, was indignant at Martin’s accusation,” Hey, shut up you twat!”

Naz ignored them and bore holes into the princess’ head,” You need to come with us.”

Ciri looked up at her in defeat before reluctantly joining them.

“As your Queen,” Calanthe spoke firmly to the room of men to be knighted,” I grant you this commendation, which will symbolize your duty and bond as liegeman in fealty to the crown of Cintra.”

Her husband, King Eist, stood to her left, slightly above her on the staircase,” Could use with a bit of feel-ty myself right now.”

“Gross,” Ciri remarked from her place on Calanthe’s right, earning a snort out of Naz who stood slightly behind her, also to the right.

Calanthe’s speech continued as the two royals behind her began to banter back and forth, much to the amusement of Naz.

“Late wee pups don’t get to bark,” Eist countered, also amused by Ciri’s reaction.

“I was playing in the square.”

“Knucklebones? Did you win this time? Like I showed you.”

“I would have if the horsemen of doom hadn’t ridden up like that,” Ciri recounted, glancing back at Naz - who only shrugged in response - clearly upset they had ruined her chances.

“If you can’t win a game of knucklebones for fear of a few horses… what’ll you do when you go into battle?”

Ciri looked contemplative, then Eist further commented,” At least you didn’t shit your kecks.”

Calanthe, however, seemed to have reached her limit,” As members of the Royal Family, is it too much to ask that you exercise a modicum of respect? Especially you. This is your duty as king and grandfather.”

“Grant me leave, my Queen,” Eist requested,” I am worn from my trip to the Isles… and my bedchamber duties before that.”

Ciri made a face,” Gross.”

Calanthe rolled her eyes and began another knighting,” As your Queen…”

Naz, though amused by the conversation, was a silent observer, her thoughts on a certain white-haired Witcher.

-

Stregobor took Geralt’s minimalistic reply as a cue to continue,” Destiny has many faces, Witcher. Mine, for example, is beautiful on the outside, but hideous on the inside. She has stretched her bloody talons towards me.”

“Wizards are all the same,” Geralt said, obviously done with Stregobor exaggerated speech, Naz held a similar sentiment towards the mage,” You talk nonsense while making wise and meaningful faces. Speak. Normally.”

Stregobor sighed, but relented, this time more direct,” Have you ever heard of the Curse of the Black Sun? First full eclipse in twelve-hundred years. It marked the imminent return of Lilit, demon goddess of the night sent to exterminate the human race. According to the wise mage Eltibald, Lilit’s path was to be prepared by sixty women wearing gold crowns who’d fill the river valleys with blood.”

Geralt leaned against a potted plant, and turned to Stregobor with a disbelieving expression,” Hm. Doesn’t rhyme. All good predictions rhyme.”

Naz let out another quiet snort of laughter at Geralt’s remark, and had he not had heightened hearing, he would have missed it. Stregobor, however, was unamused and unperturbed by Geralt’s cheek, and thus continued.

“I studied the girls born around the Black Sun and I found horrendous internal mutations among them. I tried to cure them, locked them in towers for safekeeping, but the girls always died.”

Naz’s attention was caught by the mention of mutations, as well as Geralt’s.

“Internal mutations?” They both inquired. If either was disturbed by the synchronization of their speech, neither showed it. Stregobor, however, looked surprised, but nevertheless progressed with his tale.

“They were autopsied, of course, to confirm my suspicions. But eliminating these women was the lesser evil. They could have drowned entire kingdoms in blood. If you’d been alive during Falka’s Rebellion, see what I saw-”

“Innocent women are dead,” Naz deadpanned. Geralt continued the thought,“ But not Renfri, the beautiful one. She’s after you.”

“Daughter of King Fredefalk of Creyden. I delivered the princess myself in the middle of the afternoon in pitch black.”

“Under the Black Sun, so she’s cursed,” Geralt said in exasperation, the disbelief clear on his face. Naz agreed the claim seemed ridiculous.

“Do you consider me a fool, Witcher?” Stregobor questioned, now, seemingly, offended,” Do you think I did not conduct research? Renfri was acutely affected. Her stepmother, Aridea, told me she tortured a canary, strangled two puppies, even gouged out her maid’s eye with a comb. I admit what happened next was not ideal, but with the lives of Aridea’s own children on the line, we had to act. So I dispatched someone to follow Renfri into the woods. We found him in the brush, Renfri’s antique brooch jammed into his ear. After that, I organized a manhunt to find the princess, but she was gone. Two years. Until she reappeared, robbing and murdering merchants on the roads of Mahakam. Impaled them on sticks at first, but soon, she picked up sword skills. And now no man can defy her, it’s said.”

“You're not a man, you’re a magician.”

“She’s resistant to magic.”

Geralt started at the implication,” That’s impossible in humans.”

“Not mutated ones,” Stregobor informed as if either of them didn’t already know this,” She’s chased me for years bent on revenge. And now she’s tracked me here, just as you both have arrived. Destiny. Kill her. I’ll pay you anything.”

“I kill monsters,” Geralt replied, ready to leave.

“And I only kill those who try to kill me,” Naz added, gesturing to the Alghoul head still in her hand.

“The Kikimora and Alghoul kill because they’re hungry. Renfri kills for pleasure. She is a monster. She is the last of Lilit’s women. And she has the power to destroy us all.”

“I don’t believe anyone has that power,” Geralt turned, having started back up the stairs.

“With the fate of the Continent at stake, is that a chance you’re willing to take?” Stegobor countered, glancing between the two of them,” There’s your rhyme. Killing Renfri is the lesser evil.”

Naz snorted, dropping the Alghoul head at the wizard’s feet, shoving the vials of marrow into his open hand, no longer concerned with getting coin for the items,” Evil is evil, Stregobor. Lesser, greater, meddling. It’s all the same. I’m not judging you. I haven’t done only good in my life either. But now, if I have the choice to choose between one evil and another, then I prefer not to choose at all.”

Naz made her exit with that final parting message. Stregobor looked devastated at both of their refusal to take on the job. Geralt, however, glanced at Naz’s retreating figure, growing ever curious about her by the second, humming his agreement to the statement before following her out.

-

The party was in full swing, the band at top volume, many of Cintra’s noble men and women dressed in regalia danced about in front of the table where the royals sat who observed the festivities with reserved expressions. Naz stood in the shadow of a column behind them, tense and alert, especially considering her anxiety about Nilfgaard’s approach. She felt as though destiny might finally be closing in, her thoughts again focused on Geralt, only to be interrupted by Eist speaking.

“These shindigs need a touch of the old abracadabra.”

Mousesack, the court’s sorcerer and a good friend to Naz, offered his skills,” At your service, Your Majesty. Tricks and illusions to delight.”

“He means to pull a disappearing act,” Calanthe interfered, turning her judgemental gaze on her husband,” Don’t you?”

Naz relaxed slightly, eased that the regular shenanigans Eist attempted were on the forefront of his mind, and not other matters. Though she supposed, later on, that she spoke too soon.

“No,” Eist denied, though that had clearly been his intention,” I saw the Wraiths of Morhogg over the channel this morning.”

“Yes,” Calanthe agreed, her eyes focused back on the feast,” You mentioned.”

Naz’s eyes whipped over to the Queen, the tension in her bones increasing tenfold at the mention of the omen. Ciri, however, was simply confused,” Who?”

“No good will come of it,” Eist stated, ignoring Ciri’s question,” They’re an omen of war.”

“The North has been at war since Nilfgaard took Ebbing,” Calanthe dismissed,” If the legend is true, the Wild Hunt’s years behind the curve.”

Eist pursued the conversation further by adding,” The Nilfgaardian force crossed the Amell Pass.”

“Headed to Sodden, if they’re smart,” Calanthe countered, leaning slightly toward Eist, though not removing her eyes from the party,” And if not, fifty of your Skelligan ships are on the way. We have more knights. We are prepared in case - “

“Prepared for what?” Ciri interrupted, done with not being a part of the conversation.

“Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

Naz knew that the tone in Calanthe’s voice wouldn’t settle Ciri’s curiosity, and grew anxious at the turn of the conversation. Her thought was proven true when Ciri addressed her grandmother,” Your dismissive tone says it is.”

Sighing to herself, Naz prepared to intervene, though she was beaten to the punch by Eist.

“We’re talking of war, girl.”

“With Nilfgaard?” Ciri inquired,” Why?”

“Eist,” Calanthe scolded, uncomfortable with Ciri knowing of the potential threat to Cintra.

Her husband, however, didn’t take her warning and pressed on,” Should we fall to Nilfgaard, your granddaughter will rule. She needs to understand the way of things. Though I’m sure Naz will be around to guide her.”

At the acknowledgment of Ciri’s personal guard, they all spared the warrior cloaked in black a glance. Even nearly entirely obscured in the shadows, her form was intimidating, nothing more so than the two large swords strapped to her back. Naz met their gazes and gave the two regents a nod of affirmation. The warrior would do her best to protect and serve the princess, as well as survive to see her rule. Ciri’s grandparents were well aware of her skills, both of their nerves eased by her dedication to the princess’ protection. Calanthe turned on her husband,” We will not fall, because we are not under attack! She’s a child.”

Ciri, however, did not share her grandmother’s sentiment,” You won your first battle in Hochebuz when you were my age. I’ve heard the ballad.”

“Pretty ballads hide bastard truths,” Eist pointed out, though Naz knew of quite a few ballads that ignored the truth entirely in favor of good storytelling.

“It’s a catchy song.”

“Three thousand of my men died,” Calanthe’s voice was grave,” If we must do this now, here is your first lesson. As in life, it is impossible always to be fully prepared for battle. Keep your sword close and keep moving.”

Lord Marbury, along with his son Martin, approached the table. Naz tensed, though she knew they weren’t a danger, she was unbelievably alert tonight as she feared Calanthe’s hubris might doom them all. Marbury interrupted her train of thought,” Your Majesty… Your Majesty. Thank you for allowing our company at this splendid affair.”

The royals gave their silent acknowledgment, as his son took his chance to address them.

“Your Majesties. Your Highness. Would you honor me with a dance?”

Naz’s mood perked a little at this, seeing as she knew how well his invitation would be received, though she supposed that she also wanted Ciri to have a night of fun before everything went to hell.

“Uh… Martin - “ Ciri attempted to object before her grandmother cut in and answered for her.

“She’d love to,” Calanthe smiled at the boy, while Ciri glared at her head in contempt before reluctantly leaving her seat to accept Martin’s offered hand. They soon joined the other nobles dancing on the floor. The side of Naz’s lip quirked at the scene, a small wave of peace washing over her, though she should have known it was too good to last.

“Reminds me of your daughter’s betrothal feast,” Naz remembered that night all too well, though she did not share the same fondness of it that Eist did,” The night you finally saw sense, said yes. Made me the happiest man on the Continent.”

“I did it to save my kingdom,” Calanthe returned, the fondness in her voice giving away that her statement was a lie,” And, no, you may not leave this shindig.”

Sir Danek approached Naz, his face warning enough for her to know the news he was about to deliver was less than pleasant. Whispering in her ear, Naz prepared herself the reaction she was going to receive from the monarchs as she finally moved from her spot by the column and approached Calanthe.

“Your majesty, our scouts have returned,” Naz knew that this would change everything, but could not let emotion seep into her words,” Nilfgaard is on its way to Cintra.”

The Queen’s face proved exactly how well the news had been received. Eist noticed the change immediately. Both Naz and Calanthe’s eyes focused on Ciri, worry for her festering in both their hearts.

“I stand corrected,” Calanthe’s posture tensing further with each word,” They’re here. They’re already here.”

“So much for being smart,” Eist also watched the princess fumble about on the dance floor with Martin,” You should tell the girl.”

Naz agreed though she knew Calanthe would not, but she understood why. The last thing Naz wanted for Ciri was for her to experience any of the pain she had gone through.

“Let her enjoy this night in peace. It may be her last for a while.”

Straightening up, Naz’s eyes never left the princess, her concern for only growing with each passing second. Nilfgaard’s approach could only mean devastation, they took no prisoners. These thoughts only increased the urge to steal Ciri in the night and run away with her to find Geralt. Though the thought of seeing Geralt again also caused her stomach to turn uncomfortably. They had not parted on the best of terms, and Naz could only hope that forgiveness was an ability of both their hearts. Sighing to herself, Naz returned to her column, but not even the shadows could provide the comfort she required. She remained there, watchful, for the rest of the night, the pit in her stomach growing ever darker as she watched Ciri’s ignorant blissful celebration.

-

After her _delightful_ conversation with Master Stregobor, Naz returned to Zhadow, ready to leave Blaviken in her dust. Taking the reins from Marilka’s hand, Naz offered no other acknowledgment of the girl other than the dropping of a few coins in her now empty hand. Naz mounted Zhadow and quickly rode off into the nearby woods, following the road out of town.

Naz and Zhadow wandered for a while before making camp for the night a little ways off the road, near the stream. She gathered kindling for a fire, after setting up her bedroll and tying Zhadow off to a tree, and unloading him of her supplies. Having finished with that task, she walked over to the stream to clean her weapons, and gather some clean water before heading off to the next town in the morning. Unsheathing the blades from her back she made toward the water, having to pause because she sensed the presence of someone approaching. Whirling around faster than the unidentified being could comprehend, Naz’s steel was leveled at their throat, intention clear. The blade was not lowered when Naz realized the stranger was Renfri, the supposed cursed princess. This was not because Naz believed Stregobor, but because she didn’t trust her, regardless of the free drinks.

“I’m not here to kill you,” Renfri raised her hands in surrender,” I simply want to offer you a job.”

Naz didn’t move, only allowed her hood to lower further,” I won’t kill Stregobor for you.”

Renfri eyed the warrior in suspicion at her minimal movement, wondering what she could be hiding under that hood. Naz, not wanting to extend this conversation any further, simply told her,” Leave. Now.”

Renfri didn’t heed her warning,” Can you at least hear me out, Nazirah, the Dragoness of Narok?”

Naz glared at the woman, her full name, and the deceit filled title that was associated with it, both things she despised. However, she finally lowered her sword, which Renfri took as a cue to state her case.

“I know what you did, which is why I’ve come to ask for your help.”

Naz huffed, and turned back to the stream with her rag,” Whatever you think you know is riddled with lies made to make me seem like the monster they wanted me to be. Anything you’ve heard is a retelling of a retelling, and not even the original story held a speck of truth, so save your breath, princess.”

She began to clean her swords in the river, the dried grime from the Alghoul coming off slowly, much to Naz’s annoyance.

“Fair enough,” Renfri crouched down next to her,” But, you said it yourself, you know what it’s like to be painted as a monster when you are anything but. Killing Stregobor will avenge all of the women murdered by his vendetta, it’s the lesser evil.”

Snorting, Naz finished cleaning her steel and moved on to her silver,” So I keep getting told.”

“I _was_ a princess,” Naz could tell Renfri didn’t much care about that title,” I could have been so many things, but because I was born during a solar eclipse I’m meant to be a harbinger of death?” - Naz agreed that the claim was ridiculous, but she wasn’t for getting involved in the affairs of humans, they always get too messy, and leave her heartbroken in the dirt - “The man Stregobor sent to kill me raped me, robbed me and let me go. I killed him with my mother’s brooch before running away. I learned the skills I needed to survive so that no man could ever take advantage of me like that again. Nohorn and the others saved me, they’ll be there when I finally get my revenge, unless destiny intervenes.”

Naz felt for her, what Renfri experienced is not something she would wish on anyone, but Naz knew better now. Never again would she aid humans in their petty squabbles, they turn quicker on those different from them faster than the wind changes directions.

“I won’t help you,” Naz returned both of her weapons to their respective sheaths,” But if I can offer you any advice, it would be to abandon Stregobor, leave Blaviken and do that which you truly enjoy. You may think now that getting your revenge will satisfy your anger, but only you will be able to free yourself of that burden. I’ve lived a much longer life than you, princess, it does not do one any good to dwell on the past and forget to live in the present. This course of action will only cause you more pain.”

Renfri seemed to consider her words for a moment,” The Witcher said the same thing.”

Gathering some freshwater into her canteen, Naz turned to Renfri, her face entirely obscured in the fading daylight,” Then you would be wise to listen.”

Naz made her way back to her camp, intent on starting a fire to cook the remains of her leftover meat. Renfri, however, wasn’t quite done talking to the warrior yet and followed her back to her camp. The latter ignored her presence and moved about the small clearing, prepping to make her dinner.

“I suppose I would,” Renfri finally replied,” But how am I to know peace if I allow him to live?”

Naz sighed, she was already finished with the woman, but she imparted a few more words of wisdom,” That is for you to determine, not me, princess.”

The fire burst to life before them as Naz flicked the flint across a stray rock, setting up the pot, she began making a stew. Renfri sat next to the warrior, still determined to change her mind, though she wasn’t sure she was going to make any progress. Naz, however, reluctantly accepted the company and pulled out two bowls as the stew began to boil over the fire, the scent of it wafting towards the two of them. Renfri accepted her offer of food, and they ate mostly in silence, though that was quickly disturbed as Naz began to feel faint. Renfri set aside her meal, and looked at Naz apologetically,” I’m sorry.”

She walked closer to Naz's figure,” Wha-what did you… do?”

Naz's speech became less coherent as she slowly slipped from consciousness. Renfri laid a hand across her back and lowered her to the ground, respecting her privacy and making sure her hood still covered her face.

“You’re with the Witcher, covered in blood, face bared to the people of Blaviken. You made your choice, and you’ll never know if it was the right one. Your reward will be a stoning. And you will run, Geralt at your side, but you can never escape the girl in the woods. She is your destiny.”

Naz made to go after her as she walked away, but her vision was blackening faster, and she could only watch Renfri’s boots as they marched into the forest, daylight fading rapidly behind her before Naz finally lost consciousness.

“Renfri…”

-

“Not fair that I’m trapped here,” Ciri complained, pacing in her chamber, looking out the window in resentment.

“I could magically put you to sleep, Princess,” Mousesack offered, though he was quickly met with a glare from the girl,” Just an idea.”

“It’s been two days.”

Naz understood Ciri’s malcontent with the current situation as well, she wished that she had a more active role in protecting Ciri, but would make do with keeping a watchful eye on the girl currently discontent with the state of things. 

“For you and everyone else in the castle,” Mousesack countered, looking up from the large tome in his hands,” The King and Queen ordered us to remain here, and that’s what we shall do.”

Ciri turned towards Naz and Lazlo,” And why are you two not there? Wherever they are.”

“My duty is to protect you,” Lazlo explained, while Naz opted to stay silent and continue reading the book she had acquired at random from one of the shelves.

“You’re resentful of that burden,” Ciri remarked, arms crossed. Lazlo looked slightly offended at the suggestion,” It’s the greatest honor of my life.”

Stealing the tome from Mousesack, she spared the two men an annoyed glance before sitting on the chaise, back to the fireplace,” You’re both incredibly boring.”

Naz snorted, though could not entirely disagree with the princess. Not much had occurred in Cintra since her return, aside from the now looming threat of Nilfgaardian occupation. Ciri’s mouth quirked a bit at the noise, glad she could bring amusement to the usually stoic warrior who had become like a mother to her. Mousesack, however, was not endeared by Ciri’s sentiments.

“Many, many years ago, sorcerers were known to lock little girls in towers,” The wizard began, Naz already knowing the turn this story would take,” I’m beginning to understand why.”

“You know cautionary tales won’t work on me.”

“The girls we said to be cursed” - Naz thoughts wandered to when she met Geralt. _C_ _ursed indeed_ \- “They were said to announce the end of the human race.”

“Ooh,” Ciri remarked sarcastically, not taking it seriously. Naz couldn’t blame her, she hadn’t believed a lick of what Stregobor said until it was shoved indelicately in her face. She shivered at the memories. Mousesack, not caring for Ciri’s nonchalant attitude, cut the story short to prove a point.

“So they were systematically killed. The end.”

Mousesack had moved in front of the fireplace, as to leer over the princess from behind. Ciri blanched at the abrupt nature of the ending, and perhaps a little frightened by the prospect. Despite this, her thoughts soon returned to her grandparents.

“Will my grandmother be alright?”

“You will be alright, Princess,” Naz piped up from the corner, approaching the girl and putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder,” You are her blood. And the apple never falls far from the tree.”

Relief filled the young girl's features before she embraced the female warrior, in need of maternal comfort. Naz smiled down at the girl, who buried her head in her chest, though she couldn’t quell the growing pit in her stomach as she brushed her fingers through the young girl’s hair. She shared worried looks over the princess’ shoulder with the two men in the room, her worries shared among them. Naz let out a shaky breath before pulling Ciri in closer, her proximity offering the warrior similar comfort.

Dusk had fallen over the kingdom, though Naz was well aware that the lack of daylight wouldn’t dissuade Nilfgaard from attacking. The warrior followed close behind Ciri as the princess wandered about the castle, in search of something to ease her nerves and, perhaps, provide some entertainment.

“Guide us to the safety of your arms, hold us in your light, protect from the imperial darkness that threatens our souls,” A woman prayed, the door to her chambers open, allowing her words to float out into the hallway. After she finished, she noticed Ciri watching her curiously, and bowed to pay her respects,” Princess Cirilla.”

Ciri acknowledged the woman with a slight nod of her head, before moving on, only to stop moments later as conversation started anew behind the second open door.

Martin’s voice called out to Lady Marbury,” Are we going to be okay?”

Lady Marbury rushed to comfort him,” Don’t worry, Martin. The Queen will defeat Nilfgaard. We will go home soon.”

She noticed the princess, and bowed in respect,” Your highness.”

Lord Marbury and Martin also paid their respects from beside her. Ciri thought on the exchange for a moment, before moving to head down the hallway, Naz watching her, concerned.

“. . . won’t stop until they get what they want!” came the clear exclamation of Sir Danek, Naz was certain of who he was arguing with, having spoken with the Queen herself about Nilfgaard’s aims.

“. . . a hundred arrows on my body first!” The Queen countered. Cirilla perked up at the familiar voices and changed directions, heading now towards Calanthe’s chamber. Sir Danek attempted to plead with the Queen,” Your Majesty, what must…”

Ciri burst into the room, rushing toward her grandmother, Naz entering shortly afterward. Naz could smell the blood long before they reached the chamber, and her hopes at withstanding Nilfgaard for the night fell further at the sight of Calanthe’s severely wounded form lying on the couch. Mousesack sat at her feet and met Naz’s gaze with a defeated expression, only worsening the warrior’s fear for Cirilla’s safety.

“My sweet child,” Calanthe gasped out, her voice weak as she held onto Ciri’s hands hoping to provide the girl some comfort despite her state,” Careful. Careful.”

The Queen paused now, grasping Ciri’s hands more firmly as she delivered the news Naz dreaded hearing,” Cintra is under attack… Eist is dead. Nilfgaard have made their way into the city.”

“Why?” came Ciri’s question, shaky and whispered, unshed tears in her eyes. Calanthe ignored her question, instead turning to address Sir Danek.

“The citizens, how many of them are safe within our walls?”

“A hundred or so, Your Majesty,” He replied, the tension in the room rising,” The guests from the banquet.”

“The supplies…,” Calanthe started, her breath laborious,” check we have enough.”

Sir Danek gave his affirmation before exiting the room, Naz watched him go, her heart growing heavier with each passing minute. Calanthe returned her attention to her granddaughter,” You’ve been brave, my child, while I’ve been gone?”

“I haven’t,” Ciri stuttered, her voice thick with sorrow, making Naz wish she could take the girl’s pain,” Ask Mousesack, o-or Naz. I’ve been impatient.”

“You’ll rule this land someday,” Calanthe reminded her, looking purposefully into Ciri’s eyes,” You know that don’t you?”

Naz didn’t know how much more of this she could take, the stench of death filled the room, overpowering her nose, but it was also heavy with emotion, particularly pain.

“Why are you saying all this?” Ciri questioned, fear seeping into every word,” Are you dying?”

“My sweet child,” Calanthe stroked the girl’s hair,” When I go, it will be far more dramatic than this. Now, child, let me rest.”

Naz didn’t doubt Calanthe’s statement. The woman’s death would be of her own choosing, not someone else’s. Though Naz knew exactly what Calanthe had in mind as there was no way she was surviving the night, and the idea brought the warrior much sorrow, which was reflected in her eyes as she met Calanthe’s determined gaze. The two women exchanged silent communication using only their eyes, an understanding passing between them as they both affirmed their roles in the upcoming hours, particularly in regards to Cirilla. Naz gave a slight nod of acceptance before their conversation was interrupted by Mousesack,” They’ve reached the gate.”

Mousesack steps up to the window and casts a protection spell on the gate, hands held in front of him, a slightly opaque ripple of air present in front of them.

“What are you doing?” Ciri asked, joining him to look out the window,” How long will it hold?”

“As long as I hold,” Mousesack replied grimly.

Naz knew this was it, the final stand before Cintra fell to Nilfgaard, and she was not sure what the future would hold for herself, only that it would not be anything pleasant. She wondered idly if she was ever going to see anyone in this room again after tonight. The ever-growing pit in her stomach gave her the answer she dreaded most.

Hours passed by slowly in the tense room, Calanthe’s heavy breathing one of the few sounds that penetrated the silence in the room.

“Your Majesty,” said Sir Danek,” The Nilfgaardians will breach the castle gates.”

“Have breached,” informed Mousesack, stepping away from the window,” My powers could not hold them any longer, Your Majesty.”

Ciri looked between all the adults in the room,” Now what? What do we do?”

No one answered her, the poor girl in a state of panic, but not even Naz could find the words to bring her hope at this time.

“Nazirah, Mousesack,” Calanthe called them over, both kneeling on either side of her,” He’s in the gatekeep.”

Naz’s eyes widened in shock at the revelation that Geralt had been under her nose this entire time, but Mousesack only looked at the Queen with determination in his eyes,” Destiny may yet side with us.”

Calanthe nodded slightly in assent, before turning to the knight,” Danek, it’s time.”

“Aye.”

“Wait,” Ciri called out to their retreating backs,” Where are you going?”

The three of them left the room, leaving the princess unanswered. Mousesack and Naz headed to the dungeons in search of Geralt, Danek to deliver the supplies to the other nobles still left in the castle. However, Naz couldn’t help but think that things like this never go the way she wishes they would, she knew Geralt couldn’t stand to be stuck in one place for too long. She supposed that fifteen years apart might have changed his temperament, though she doubted it. Naz could only hope that the stubborn white-haired man hadn’t done anything stupid.

Mousesack returned to the royals, without Naz, several moments later. He took residence at the Queen’s side, torch still in hand.

“Your Majesty. He’s gone,” Mousesack informed,” Naz has left to find him.”

“What?” Calanthe muttered in disbelief before turning to face Cirilla,” In the face of the inevitable, Cirilla, good leaders should always choose mercy. In the future, you will be wise to do the same. Lazlo, bring her cloak.”

“What? No, not without Naz.”

“Continue to be brave, promise me,” Calanthe’s tone was even more severe now, especially since Naz had not returned yet to protect Cirilla with the Witcher at her side,” You are the Lion Club of Cintra. You are destined for great things.”

“I can’t do this without you, o-or Naz,” Ciri pleaded, looking at the grim faces around the room. Lazlo moved forward, Cirilla’s cloak in hand, urgency in his tone,” We must go, your highness.”

“NO!”

The room quaked with the force of her scream, her power manifesting for the first time. The glasses on the side table shook violently, everyone in the room pausing to watch them in fear. Cirilla didn’t understand, had she done that? No one in the room spoke for a moment, but Calanthe knew that she had to get Ciri out of the palace before Nilfgaard could retrieve her.

“Go,” The Queen urged the Princess,” The world depends on it.”

Ciri rushed to her side, desperation and tears in her eyes,” I love you.”

“Find Geralt of Rivia,” Calanthe whispered to her in parting,” He is your destiny.”

Though she only had more questions after this message, Cirilla left with Sir Lazlo, Mousesack joining them moments later as they rushed to get her out of the castle. Moving quickly they exited a secret tunnel into an empty corner of the palace courtyard. Two horses stood tied off to a nearby post, the sounds of fighting echoing through the night air far off to their right.

“Horses,” Mousesack observed, guiding them over to the steeds,” Princess, come.”

Off in the distance, a Nilfgaardian soldier called out to them. Mousesack turned to Lazlo,” Keep going.”

Lazlo understood, though Cirilla vehemently protested the course of action, for she didn’t want to lose another person she cared deeply for so soon. How she wished Naz was here to offer her some form of wisdom, or even just present to provide her comfort, she needed the warrior’s maternal warmth more than anything now.

“Princess, I gave your grandmother my word,” Mousesack gripped the young girl’s shoulders, his expression soft,” Allow me to keep it. Go.”

Ciri’s eyes were sorrowful, but she understood, regardless of how reluctant she was to leave the sorcerer. Lazlo led her to the nearest horse, helping her mount it.

“My grandmother said I had to leave,” Ciri knew that there was something that everyone had been keeping from her, and with the state of things, she was determined to know what,” Why? Why is Nilfgaard here? Why does the world depend on it?”

“Hold on, Your Highness,” Lazlo ignored her interrogation in favor of mounting the horse behind her and setting them off toward the palace gate. Behind them, Cahir knocks an arrow aiming straight for the pair. 

“I’ve been protected my whole life, Lazlo. Why?”

Lazlo’s isn’t given the opportunity to answer as Cahir’s arrow burrows in his throat. His body falls sideways off the galloping steed, dragging Ciri down with him, startling her. Cahir races forward on his horse, capturing the frightened princess before she even has a chance to register all that occurred, only one thought on her mind. _Naz...save me...please, mom_. 

As if her thoughts had been heard, an earth-shattering roar of anguish sounded off in the distance, the fire burning in Cintra exploding into a raging inferno.

-

_You’re in the market… covered in blood… you chose… the girl in the woods… she is your destiny…_

“Renfri!”

Naz woke with a start, looking around her in alarm. Her campsite had remained undisturbed throughout the night, the only sign something had happened was the abandoned stew sitting by the remains of the fire. Naz gathered her wits about her as she realized what Renfri had done. _The bitch drugged me._ Though Naz didn’t dwell on this thought for long as she grabbed her weapons, her mind drifted to Renfri’s parting message. What the hell had she meant? If there was anything Naz believed less than Stregobor’s tale of cursed women, it was destiny. But Renfri’s words cycled repeatedly in her head until she realized where she had to go if she wanted answers.

Moments later Naz found herself entering Blaviken’s marketplace, hood lowered, her swords across her back as the townspeople gave her a wide berth. Soon she is met with the back of Geralt, sword tucked under his arm and armor missing, as he faced off against Renfri’s men.

“She knew you’d come,” spoke Nohorn, though she couldn’t tell if he was addressing the both of them, or just Geralt.

“Where is Renfri?” Geralt demanded, his voice lowered to convey the unspoken threat.

“She’s at the tower with your little friend, Marilka,” Nohorn answered. Naz grew concerned for the young girl, she may have not talked much to her, but the warrior would be damned if she allowed for innocent blood to be spilled in a human’s petty scheme for revenge. _Never again._

“She gave us a message to pass on to you,” A mercenary spoke on Nohorn’s right,” You have to choose the lesser evil.”

“It’s an ultimatum,” A second mercenary chipped in, brandishing his weapon as he moved to stand on Norhorn’s left,” Get it?”

“Fuck.”

Another mercenary towards the back of the gathered group released the arrow from his crossbow, aimed directly at Geralt, however, faster than any of them were able to register, Naz appeared in front of the Witcher and deflected it. Geralt paused in shock for a moment before the mercenaries began their attack. The second mercenary from earlier rushed the two first, though he dealt with swiftly as Naz clipped his arm and knee, bringing him to the ground before thrusting her sword through his face, carving the blade upward through his skull as she removed it. Geralt met the next opponent, crossing swords for a moment before slashing his blade across the mercenary’s abdomen. Naz’s steel met the ax of the mercenary rushing Geralt from behind as she stabbed her silver into his thigh, effectively debilitating him. Geralt slashed the face of the next man, grabbed his sword, and cut clean across his stomach before facing the next one. Naz beats him to it crossing swords with the merc for a moment then slashing her second blade across his arm, cutting off his hand. Geralt impales the sword he commandeered at the archer before he can even attempt to fight, pinning his corpse to the crate behind him. Naz appears at his side, hood miraculously still covering her face, as the last of the men make their attempts. The Witcher throws Aard at the remaining mercenaries, the first one to reach them killed nearly instantly by Naz’s steel as she thrust it through his neck, impaling him on a wooden post temporarily before she removed her blade and met the next opponent as Geralt charged for Nohorn. The warrior dispatches the last man in time to watch the Witcher decapitate Nohorn who he had pinned to a door. The two had worked together with brutal efficiency, none of the mercenaries had survived their onslaught for more than a minute. Suddenly, Marilka’s panicked voice called out to the two, who both whipped around to see Renfri with her sword at the young girl’s neck.

“Naz! Geralt!” Marilka then took in the state of the market,” No…”

Renfri, however, looked at the devastation and turned to the two warriors, betrayal written across her face, particularly aimed at Geralt,” You chose.”

“Let the girl go,” Naz stepped forward, blades brandished in warning. Renfri took it as a challenge,” I will kill her. I will kill everyone here until Stregobor comes down.”

“Leave Blaviken, it’s not too late,” Geralt pleaded with her, charging another Aard on his fingertips. Naz noticed a hidden depth in his voice that could only mean one thing. _This fucken idiot slept with her, didn’t he?_ Naz scoffed to herself at the giant brute of stupidity she had decided to help. She figured since he was a Witcher he would understand not to get feelings involved, they only cause complications in the future, but, no, like any other man he stuck his dick in it. If Naz could roll her eyes at this moment at the absolute nonsense occurring in front of her, she would, however, she knew now was no time to scold Geralt for being a man.

“Magic doesn’t work on me,” Renfri informed, eyes on Geralt’s sword,” Silver does though.”

“Silver is for monsters,” Renfri throws Marilka aside, surging forward with her sword poised on her arm. Geralt and Naz both backed away slightly, Geralt issuing her a warning,” If we cross swords…”

“I won’t be able to stop,” Renfri started attacking them both,” They created me _just_ as they created the two of you. We’re not so different.”

The warrior and the Witcher look towards one another before meeting Renfri’s attacks. They parried, thrust, and blocked until Geralt grabbed Renfri’s sword, his own poised at her throat, and then stood paused for a moment in the middle of the square. In a last attack, Renfri thrust her knife toward Geralt, only for the blade to meet her throat in a killing blow. Naz froze in shock, her arms dropping to her sides, swords loosely clutched in each hand, watching on as Geralt gently laid the dying woman to the ground. Before giving her last breath, she imparted upon them one last message,” The girl in the woods will be with you always. She is your destiny.”

Naz and Geralt’s gazes met for the first time. Sometime during their fight with Renfri, Naz’s hood had fallen revealing her long-hidden face. She had long black tied back in an elegant braid gathered in a bun at the back of her head, but not even the three large scars starting just above her brow, crossing her nose, and crawling past her jawline down into the collar of her shirt were the most startling thing about her appearance. Geralt was brought back to that moment before they entered Stregobor’s tower where he swore he saw red. Now there was no doubt in his mind because staring right back at him were crimson iris', so bright they almost glowed. Naz wondered what could have caused Geralt to stare at her so oddly until she realized she didn’t feel the familiar weight of her hood over her head. Eyes widening in fear, she moved to put it back on when she was interrupted by Stregobor’s approach.

“Incredible,” Stregobor kneels by her body, before turning to the gathering crowd,” Marilka. Marilka? Marilka! Get me a cart. We’ll take her to the tower for an autopsy.”

Naz, enraged by the sorcerer’s audacity, levels her silver at his throat,” If you touch a single hair on her head yours will be on the ground next.”

Geralt apparently had the same thought as his blade was similarly placed in defense over Renfri’s body. 

“Have you two gone mad?” Stregobor looked aghast,” Her mutation, it influences people. That’s how she got these men to follow her. We need to take it.”

Stregobor paused for a moment, looking between them, eyes settling on Naz in recognition,” She got to you, too, didn’t she?”

“Do not touch her,” Geralt gritted out, anger rising at the wizard’s nonchalant tone. Stregobor, however, was not quite ready to change focuses, his gaze boring into Naz’s crimson eyes.

“You, Nazirah, the Dragoness, responsible for the slaughter of innocents in Narok, and you, Witcher, together butchered bodies in the streets of Blaviken.”

The two warriors looked at each other nervously, knowing exactly how this line of speech was going to turn, a shared understanding passed through that glance. 

“You’re beasts,” The innkeeper exclaimed, which further riled up the gathering crowd. The barmaid, Isadora, went next,” You endangered the girl.”

“You took the law into your own hands,” Stregobor continued, using the crowd’s fear to press his advantage. The people of Blaviken began to rally behind Stregobor, leaving the two warriors no choice but to remove their weapons from his throat. They began yelling left and right at the two, insults and death wishes, while the sorcerer looked at them smugly, knowing he had won. 

“You made a choice. And you’ll never know if it was the right one.”

Stregobor’s words eerily echoed the warning that Renfri had left the both of them, and settled uncomfortably in their stomachs. The crowd, now turned mob, didn’t stop their attack, only now they had begun using physical abuses, the first stone hit Geralt’s back and he knelt, using his sword for cover, Naz following him as the attack continued. Marilka now stood before the both of them, tears not the only thing in her eyes. _Fear._ Marilka looked terrified of the two warriors crouched on the ground with stones being cast at them.

“Get out of Blaviken, Naz, Geralt,” she said, her voice both afraid and sorrowful,” Don’t ever come back.”

The two warriors looked at her in shock, sorrow written across their faces as well before they looked down, sparing Renfri’s body a parting glance. Naz then looked intently at the Witcher, who she knew was in a state of panic she had experienced many years ago in Narok. She gave him an expression of understanding, her heart once again hurting because of humans. Stregobor was right when he said they were the worst kind of monster. 

“Let’s go, Geralt,” Naz’s voice soft in comparison to the raging villagers, coaxing the Witcher out of his stupor. He gave her a small nod of affirmation, before standing up with her and walking to the parting crowd opposite Stregobor. The citizens of Blaviken continued to attack with all means available to them, though they gave the two a wide berth to walk out of the town, the acrid stench of fear heavy in the air.

Naz didn’t even bother to put her hood back up, she knew there was no point. She glanced over at Geralt and noticed his similar expression of defeat. As they left Blaviken in their past, Renfri’s last words echoed across their minds.

_The girl in the woods will be with you always…_

Geralt clutched Renfri’s brooch tighter, turning to Naz, meeting her eyes, somehow knowing that they were thinking the same thing.

_She is your destiny._


	2. Silver

_Fear_. It wasn’t a new emotion for Cirilla but it wasn’t something she had ever felt so intensely until now. After escaping the man with the giant blackbird on his head, something she still couldn’t explain, she had never longed so much for Naz’s comfort. The woman had been a constant presence in her life, even taught her a bit about defending herself, and when her parents died, Naz took the responsibility of her care. Naz was the closest thing Cirilla had to a mother, being without her now when she needed her most was even more terrifying than the Nilfgaardian soldiers currently trying to capture her. She especially longed for the warrior’s warmth, because no matter the weather Naz always exuded heat, something Ciri was desperate for now with the chill of the air seeping through the fabric of her cloak. Cirilla paused her thoughts for a moment, listening as the pounding of hooves crept ever closer. There it was again, _fear_ , sending shivers down her spine as she ducked into the forest taking shelter behind a tree. As they came up the road it was exactly who the princess suspected. _Nilfgaard_. They called out for her into the woods as they rode past, but Ciri remained silent, the last she wanted was for them to catch her before she can find Geralt of Rivia, not that she had any idea who that was. But it was her grandmother’s dying wish so the princess would see it through, she could only hope that she would find Naz along the way.

“Princess!”

“Princess Cirilla!”

“Princess Cirilla!”

“Come on! Now, Princess!”

There were four of them, all on horseback, covered in the same black armor, which instilled more fear in Ciri’s bones. The princess kept a watchful eye on them as they passed by, making sure they didn’t notice her.

“Moving to the stream!”

“You, keep your eye open!”

Ciri let out a breath of relief as she slunk back behind the tree while the soldiers moved on. Surveying the thicket around her she noticed a small puddle in the ground in front of her and crawled carefully towards it. She hesitated for a moment before dipping her hand to grab some of the mud created by the water and slathering it on her hair. A trick Naz told her about should she ever need to hide her identity. She remembers the moment fondly, though looking back on it now, Cirilla wonders if Naz had taught her all these things because she knew something like this might happen. Regardless, the princess was grateful to her for everything, despite wishing she had returned to her instead of going off to find whoever it was that had been in the keep. Deciding not to dwell on the subject any further, Cirilla moved on to her stomach, which growled to signify her hunger. The princess couldn’t remember a time she had ever gone this long without food and began to search the underbrush for something edible. After a while of wandering aimlessly through the forest, Ciri came across a small bush full of red berries. Moving to pick one, she hears the whistling first before she’s hit in the wrist by the projectile. A startled gasp escapes her,” Who’s there?”

She leans down to pick up a fallen tree branch and scans the trees for movement. The head of a boy peeks out from behind a tree, a dark-skinned boy wearing a blue hat pulled tightly over his ears. She points the stick in his direction threateningly,” Stop right there.”

The boy mimes eating one of the berries before pretending to choke. Sparing the berries a glance, Ciri turns her gaze back to the boy,” You mean they’re poison?”

The boy doesn’t reply, only waves her over, waiting for her to join him. Cirilla walks forward cautiously, stick shaking in front of her as she approaches the boy. After joining him behind the tree, he points out a rat scurrying across the forest floor and holds out a small knife to her. Ciri internally cringes at the suggestion,” Oh, uh… no thank you. I don’t eat rat.”

The boy looks at her incredulously for a moment before shrugging, sighing, and turning to walk away. Ciri, however, wasn’t keen to lose the only positive company she’d had in three days and called out to him,” Wait!”

This is how Cirilla found herself, several minutes later, warming herself in front of a small fire, the rat cooking on a spit above it. The boy from earlier was heartily dining on one of the rat’s legs in front of her. She took him in curiously before she began asking questions.

“Wh-Where in Cintra did you live?” The boy offered no reply, only continued to eat,” Where are your parents? Why don’t you talk?”

Cirilla supposed that the last question might have been insensitive, Naz told her about people who couldn’t speak and thus learned to communicate with their hands and faces, but she hadn’t spoken with anyone since she escaped and was desperate for conversation, even if it was a bit one-sided.

“I haven’t spoken to anyone in three days. I guess… I’m on the run. I’m supposed to be going towards someone, but instead, I’m running from someone else.” - Ciri paused, reliving her escape for a moment, the statue falling, her screams that seemed to shake the earth. Curling in on herself, she wished Naz was here to tell her what to do, protect her from all of her fears, especially the man she was running from - “He has this… this big bird on his head. I don’t know what he wants from me.” - She paused once more, shivers creeping down her spine at the thought of him - “We should smother the fire. I can’t be caught by him. I can’t.”

She looks intently at the boy, though he seems to ignore her concern in favor of offering her the rat. She glances at it for a moment before her empty stomach answers for her as she twists off one of the legs and takes a bite. After finishing the rat and dousing the fire, the two began to wander together through the forest, the boy walking ahead of her trying to return warmth to his hands. Cirilla took note of this and strode up behind him offering one of her gloves to him, which he accepted hesitantly. Soon they came across the Cintran refugee camp for those few that had managed to escape Nilfgaard’s invasion. Cirilla perked up at the familiar colors as she began to run forward, excited at the prospect of somewhere warm to sleep for the night,” Look, it’s the Cintran flag. Come on, we’re saved!”

Ciri enters the border of the camp and turns back to talk to the boy only to see he’s no longer behind her. She searches the tall grasses for him, though she can’t find a trace of him anywhere.

“Rat boy?”

-

Naz sat next to Geralt in silence in the tavern at their most recent stop, Posada. It was a beautiful village built above cloud cover making it seem almost as if the buildings were floating. Swords resting against the wall next to them as they tried to enjoy some ale in peace, which was quickly disturbed by an unnamed Bard’s singing. Though Naz found his voice enjoyable, the song made no sense, and frankly was full of lies about creatures that don’t even exist. After the incident in Blaviken, she had forgone wearing her cloak altogether, no longer worrying about hiding when she knew almost all the people were far too terrified of the stories surrounding her to try anything. Abandoning that train of thought for something more pleasant, she tuned in to the Bard’s song,” _… that your lady may get an abortion_ \- “

“Abort yourself!” One of the patrons yelled, throwing bread at him.

“Oh, oi, stop!” the Bard retreated to the stool in the corner,” Fuck off!”

“Shut up!”

“I’m so glad that I could bring you all together like this,” Naz snorted at the Bard’s comment and was only half-tempted to throw something at him herself.

“Sit down and shut up!” Another disgruntled villager yelled at him.

“Unbelievable,” The Bard muttered to himself, before picking up the bread the villagers had thrown at him and shoving it in his trousers. Naz took another solemn sip of her ale, not much up for conversation, luckily neither was her partner. However, their comfortable silence was interrupted as the Bard made his way across the room to them. Naz rolled her eyes, not in the mood to deal with any human men for the rest of her existence. The Bard, stopped in front of them, leaning against a nearby pillar,” I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

“I’m here to drink in silence,” Geralt answered for the two of them, Naz grateful that since she was a woman she wasn’t expected to speak anyway. The musician didn’t heed Geralt’s words, however, and continued speaking to them.

“Good. Yeah, good,” the Bard replied, getting nervous as he spoke,” No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except… for the two of you.”

Neither offered anything but silence, Naz sipped nonchalantly at the beer she had been nursing for a while. He glanced between the two hoping for something to slip through.

“Come on,” the Bard insisted,” You don’t want to keep a man with… bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

Naz set down her drink,” They don’t exist.”

“Wha-what don’t exist?”

“The creatures in your song,” she clarified, taking another sip, before sharing a sideways glance with Geralt.

“And how would you know?” The Bard asked indignantly, before taking a moment to observe them a bit more, realization dawning on his face, causing Naz to sigh,” Oh, fun. White hair… crimson eyes...both big, old loners, four very… very scary-looking swords. I know who you are.”

The two look at each other in exasperation before grabbing their things to leave. Naz slid out first, handing Geralt his swords before grabbing her own as he dropped a few coins on the table. She brushed past the Bard, Geralt on her heels, as he made to follow them. Hanging off the side of another one of the tavern’s support pillars, the Bard called out to their retreating figures,” You’re the Dragoness and the Witcher, Nazirah of Narok and Geralt of Rivia. Called it.”

Naz rolled her eyes at the Bard’s arrogance. _Men are disgusting_. However, this announcement seems to catch the attention of one particular villager in need of help. He approaches the pair, reeking of anxiety,” A job I’ve got for ya. I beg you. A devil - he’s been stealing all our grain. In advance, I’ll pay you. A hundred ducat.”

Geralt shared a glance with Naz who nodded. The Witcher turned to the villager with his counteroffer,” One fifty.”

The man reached into his vest and pulled out a money pouch, holding it out to the monster hunters,” I’ve got no doubt you’ll come through. You take no prisoners, so I hear.”

Naz resented that assumption. They only killed that which couldn’t be reasoned with, but everyone always focused on whatever telling of the Butchering of Blaviken they’ve heard and determined that the incident was the entirety of their personas. Scoffing, Naz grabbed the offered coin before making her way outside to where the horses were waiting. Zhadow nudged her gently when she reached him, sensing her foul mood. She sighed, accepting the horse’s affection,” Why are humans so irritating?”

The gelding huffed in reply, though Geralt answered her,” I’ve been asking myself the same thing, there are too many reasons to list.”

Naz hummed in agreement before following Geralt’s lead and mounting her steed, following Roach towards the mountains. The first incline was steep, so the two warriors decided it would be best to lead the horses from the ground first and wait for it to level out before riding the horses the rest of the way. While about halfway up the climb, they were joined again by the Bard.

“Ah, need a hand?” he called out as he approached the two,” I’ve got two. One for each of the, uh, devil’s horns.”

“Go away,” Naz ordered, bluntly, not interested in his talkative company.

“I won’t be but silent back-up,” The Bard offered, making a grand gesture with his arms, face falling at the unamused looks he received from the two,” Look, I heard your note, and, yes, you’re right, maybe real adventures would make better stories. And you two smell chock-full of them. Amongst other things.” - Neither could have helped how they smelled, they had been traveling for weeks without a proper place to bathe, a fact Naz detested - “I mean, what is that? Is that onion? It doesn’t matter.” - Naz was pretty sure is the remnants of one of their more recent monster kills but was not going to explain that to the Bard - “ Whatever it is, you both smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak.”

“It’s onion,” Geralt answered, also uninterested in the Bard. Naz, however, flinched at the use of that dreaded word. _Destiny_.

The Bard tried to look unaffected by the warriors’ two-word answers,” Right, yeah. Yeah.”

Then the musician seemed to have an epiphany,” Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Nazirah of Narok and Geralt of Rivia, the-the Butchers of Blaviken.”

The two warriors paused for a moment before Geralt gestured for the Bard to move closer,” Come here.”

“Yeah?” the musician came forward, an innocent puppy look on his face which was quickly wiped away by Geralt sucker punching him in the abdomen. Naz snorted at the scene guiding Zhadow further up the mountain, Geralt following her shortly thereafter,” Come on, Roach.”

-

Ciri ventured into the camp observing all the people milling about in varying states of cleanliness, not that she was judging them as she could only imagine how she looked right now. The princess heard a baby’s shrill cry and turned to investigate the sound. She found a mother gently rocking her child, the mother meeting her gaze as Ciri passed by with haunted and empty eyes. Several Cintran soldiers were scattered about, some eating, others walking around the camp. Two boys wrestled for a bowl of soup, one of the boys successfully grabbed it from the other before running off to somewhere else in the camp. She then noticed a line for soup and rushed to the front hoping for food other than rat, however, she was quickly stopped by the woman at the front of the line,” Hey, no cutting!”

Recoiling, Cirilla looked up at the woman, aghast,” Don’t touch me. This food was provided by the queen.”

“May she rot in hell,” the woman spat before walking away with a bowl of soup. Cirilla’s eyes followed her for a moment, confused, and surprised by the woman’s harsh attitude towards her grandmother. Her attention was quickly refocused, however, when a boy approached her from behind,” Your cloak… My father made it. Ziven Ozol. He clothes Cintra’s finest.”

Ciri turned to him, curiosity in her eyes while he, too, gave her a once over,” You look like you’ve been through hell. Like all of us.”

The boy walks away to a pot hanging from a spit, Ciri puts back the bowl she grabbed and follows the boy, eyes focused on the necklace dangling from his neck. _Are those -_

“They’re elf ears,” The boy interrupted her thought, holding up one of the ears,” I killed them all. Doing my part to avenge human lives lost in Filivandrel’s uprising.”

“Filivandrel?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, like something she had heard in passing.

“The elves call him ‘King’,” The boy explained,” Last year, he tried to claim Cintran land. My brother got an arrow in the brain. Every day I make sure his death’s not in vain.”

The boy finished gathering soup from the pot into his own and began walking away, sparing Cirilla a glance over his back,” Come, meet my family.”

Hesitating for a moment, Cirilla decides to follow him. The boy leads her to a large tent and invites her inside,” Come.”

Once inside, Cirilla notices several cots, as well as sheets and other miscellaneous items scattered around a bit haphazardly. The boy leads her where a woman dressed in a muted yellow gown, and another boy dressed similarly to the first in a well-made doublet with matching trousers. 

“Mother,” the boy addressed the woman,” I’ve brought someone to join us. This is…”

Ciri thinks for a moment about the woman from earlier, particularly her attitude towards her grandmother, as well as Naz’s lesson about protecting oneself in an unknown environment, and chooses to introduce herself by one of her middle names.

“Fiona,” she finally offered.

“Look at you in your little cloak,” the woman cooed gently. The other boy spoke up,” Our father just died.”

His mother scoffed, placing bowls in front of the children,” Fighting to defend that wretched bitch and her wretched family.”

It was then that Ciri confirmed that she had made the right decision in not revealing her real name and thanked Naz for all of those odds words of wisdom she offered in regards to times like these.

“Mother, stop,” The first boy interfered,” It wasn’t Queen Calanthe’s fault. Nilfgaard only got past Cintran borders because of elven spies.”

“Technically, it was the elves’ land first,” his brother piped up.

The other boy glared at him pointedly,” Our brother died for that land.”

“And your father died for Calanthe’s selfishness,” their mother interrupted,” One conflict after another. Robbing us of our homes, our men, and our lives. When will it stop?”

“When I’m a knight,” the first boy tried to console his mother’s fury,” I’ll have enough coin to rebuild our house.”

Ciri, who had remained silent and listened as her grandmother was slandered, growing tenser with every word, turned to the boy,” You’re to be a knight?”

“I have to apprentice,” the boy replied softly,” But I’ll be ready when Cintra rises again.”

Having finished preparing for a meal, the boys’ mother offered a toast,” To order and dignity.” - It was then that the woman noticed the disastrous state of Ciri’s shoes - ” Oh, child. Your shoes.” - Ciri moved to hide her feet behind the tattered remains of her dress - “ Let’s get you a fresh pair, why don’t we?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Cirilla replied, and while she was grateful, she was still uncomfortable around them, considering their mixed attitudes towards her family. As she had found herself for the past few days, she wished Naz were here. If there was anything she needed right now it was Naz’s warmth and her wonderful lullabies. The woman called over her servant,” Abbott.”

From where he had been cleaning glasses, Abbott, a dwarf, walked over before taking off his shoes and offering them to Ciri at the woman’s silent order. The woman, mistaking Cirilla’s discomfort, attempted to console her,” Don’t worry, he’s one of the clean ones.”

The princess reluctantly took the shoes from the dwarf, guilt settling in her heart and eyes as she looked down at Abbott. Sadness crept over her, remembering something Naz once told her.

“ _If there is one thing I hate about this world it is humanity’s desire to prove themselves superior to all other species by killing or enslaving those different from them.”_

_A younger Cirilla gazed up at the warrior,” What does that mean?”_

_Naz, who looked the same as she does now, met the inquisitive princess’ eyes, her expression growing soft as she picked the girl up, placing her on her hip,” It means, Your Highness, that I want you to be better. I want you to treat all beings with the same respect you would treat yourself. Because even if they look different, we are all the same in our souls, regardless of lifespans.”_

_Child Ciri hadn’t quite understood what the warrior meant, but she remembered it and tried her best to apply it to her life._

_“Okay,” the young girl replied, her eyebrows scrunched in determination,” I will. Promise.”_

_Naz had smiled at her before showering her in affectionate kisses,” That’s my little dragon.”_

_Young Ciri laughed delightedly at the warrior’s praise, as well as the nickname._

_“Come on,” Naz started walking away from the window she had been looking out,” Let’s work on your sword technique.”_

_Young Ciri wriggled in excitement as Naz put her down before she grabbed the warrior’s hand and started dragging her outside to the practice fields. Naz laughed at the little girl, allowing the Princess to pull her around._

The Princess smiled fondly to herself at the memory, watching as the dwarf returned to his previous task barefoot. _I promise, Mom. I will be better._

  
  


-

  
  


The Bard eventually got up, and this time tried a different tactic, first officially introducing himself to the two, though neither cared to know his name. Jaskier, the bard, didn’t take any offense to their silence and continued his train of thought at the two monster hunters on horseback who attempted to ignore him.

“Reading between the lines and the gut punches, chum, I’d say you have got a bit of a… an image problem.” - Naz thought that was the understatement of the century, though an image problem was last in a very long list of issues the two had - “Were I to join you on this… feat to defeat the devil of Posada, I could relieve you of that title. All the North would be too busy singing the tales of… Nazirah of Narok, the Dragoness, and Geralt of Rivia, the-the White Wolf or- or something.”

“Butcher is right,” Naz was blunt, hoping that their lack of conversation would dissuade Jaskier from joining them any further.

Jaskier seemed to consider this for a moment, though he quickly realized that he was quite tired and reached for Roach’s saddle. Naz didn’t even think to warn him of the stupidity in that action, knowing very well how protective Geralt was of the mare and his personal space.

“Mind if I hop up?” Naz chuckled under breath at the bard’s question,” It’s just that, I’m not wearing the right kind of footwear.”

“Don’t touch Roach.” 

If Jaskier had thought Geralt was threatening earlier, that opinion increased tenfold at the aggressive tone the Witcher had taken on in defense of his horse.

“Yeah, right, yeah.”

At this point, the trio had reached the fields where the supposed thievery was occurring. Naz and Geralt dismounted, tying their horses off to a nearby tree, and began their investigation.

“The elves called this Dol Blanthanna before bequeathing it to the humans and retreating into their golden palaces in the mountains.” - Naz started for a moment. _Is that what most humans think? Did they seriously try to erase the genocide of the elves from their past? Would anyone in their right mind just abandon their home?_ \- “ There I go again, just… delivering exposition.”

Naz glances back at Jaskier for a moment, astonished at the audacity of humans, though she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised anymore at the things humans will do to make themselves seem superior. She then joined Geralt as they cautiously searched about the field, attuning their heightened sentences for anything that didn’t belong.

“Naz? Geralt?” Jaskier hurried to catch up to them,” Wh- Where are you going? Don’t leave me. Hello? What are we looking for again?”

“Blessed silence.”

Naz hummed in agreement, keeping a watchful eye out for any movement that wasn’t the two men beside her.

“Yeah, I don’t really go in for that.” - Naz would have never _fucking_ guessed - “Have you ever hunted a devil before? Have you, uh, have you ever hunted a devil before, Geralt?”

“Devils don’t exist,” they answered in sync, though now there was no visible reaction to their synchronization, the two warriors had grown used to sharing similar thoughts. Jaskier, however, looked between the man and woman in front of him in surprise before gathering himself.

“Right. Obviously,” Jaskier joined them in their hunch,” Then, uh… then what are we doing?”

“Sometimes there’s a monster,” Naz began, Geralt continuing,” Sometimes there’s money.”

Naz’s eyes focused intently on the small break in the grain, nudging Geralt in the same direction,” Rarely both.”

“That’s the life,” Geralt was now also paying close attention to the spot his partner had pointed out before he was shoved out of the way by Naz as a projectile came whistling by. However, she hadn’t quite moved fast enough and Geralt was still nicked in the forehead,” Shit.”

“Act Two begins!” Jaskier exclaimed excitedly, now standing far behind them, close to Roach,” What was that?” - Naz picked up a tiny sphere-shaped rock - “Looks like a tiny cannonball from a…”

Jaskier then noticed two large curved horns emerging from the underbrush,” Oh, my gosh. Geralt… it is a devil. Ooh. I have to see this magical, this mythi -”

The Bard was the next victim of the rock projectile, this time he was knocked unconscious. Naz would have expressed her gratitude to the creature for finally silencing Jaskier had it not charged out of the brush,” LEAVE ME BE!”

Geralt and Naz were tackled by the beast, though they recovered quickly and began to wrestle with the creature. Naz got kicked off by his hoof, hitting the ground away from the two hard enough to disorient her. Geralt growled at the creature, angry that it had hurt his partner.

“You talk,” the Witcher gritted out, pinning the humanoid goat creature to the ground.

“Of course I talk!” huffed the beast below him, indignant.

“What happened with you? Your mother fuck a goat?” Geralt inquired, a dangerous smirk on his face.

“I am Torque the Sylvan,” Torque informed, offended,” A rare and intelligent creature!”

“You’re a dick,” Naz hissed at him from her place on the ground, rolling over while trying to gain her bearings,” With balls.”

“Balls I got from humans, who left out food filled with iron meant to poison me!”

Torque rips out a clump of Geralt’s hair in an attempt to fight back, who growled in pain.

“Did your mother fuck a snowman?”

Geralt didn’t take the comment too kindly and punched Torque in the face.

“You are intelligent. I’ll give you that. So I won’t kill you, but you can’t stay here.”

“Neither can you.”

The Witcher looked at the Sylvan in confusion, catching a glimpse of Naz’s crumpled figure being dragged away before everything went black. 

-

Cirilla lay awake on the cot provided for her, mind racing with everything that had occurred over the past few days, regardless of how exhausted she was. Her gaze was focused on the roof of the tent, watching the lights dance as the candles lit around the room flickered about. She heard shuffling to her right where Lilja, the boys’, Adon and Zeke, mother lay. Lilja turned to face the young girl with a concerned expression when she noticed Ciri’s eyes were still open,” So tired. But I can’t sleep either.”

Cirilla didn’t reply, still too wrapped up in the fear consuming her bones.

“You’re still scared, aren’t you?” Lilja observed,” Well, you’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

The Princess took a small amount of comfort from these words, though she knew she wouldn’t feel safe until she found Naz again, or found her supposed destiny.

“I’m looking for… for Geralt of Rivia,” Cirilla turned her head to meet Lilja gaze, a tear leaking from the corner of her eye,” Do you know him?”

“Afraid I don’t,” Lilja replied forlornly, wishing she could help the girl,” He’s a knight?”

“I don’t know,” the Princess replied, turning back to watch the ceiling.

“What about your mother or your father?” Lilja inquired, hoping to reunite the girl with her family.

“My parents died when I was a baby,” Ciri informed, voice thick with emotion,” My grandmother and a close friend of theirs took care of me.”

“Where are they?”

She was silent for several moments before answering, more tears escaping her eyes as she thought about everything that had happened that night.

“My grandmother, she, um… died. In the Nilfgaard attack,” it wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close enough, and just thinking about it caused Ciri great pain,” And I don’t know where Naz went, she left to go look for someone and didn’t come back.”

“Oh,” Lilja replied, sympathetic,” I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Ciri returned, her heart also hurting for their losses,” For your family.”

“We’ll get through this together,” Lilja comforted, her voice determined,” We take care of our own.”

Despite her best intentions to console the girl, Ciri felt an impending sense of dread fill her lungs as Lilja finished speaking, but offered her a pained smile before turning back to watch the lights flicker about above her. Somehow, Cirilla knew this small moment of peace wouldn’t last for long, though she couldn’t understand _how_ she knew. This train of thought was soon interrupted, however, when the exhaustion finally caught up with her and she was pulled into a restless sleep.

  
  


-

  
  


Geralt came to slowly at first, and then all at once, instantly alert. His panic increased when he couldn’t find Naz anywhere at first glance, though it calmed when he found her lying next to him, breathing even, hands tied in front of her. Letting out a sigh of relief, he struggled against the ropes tying him to Jaskier to see if they would break, with no such luck. Jaskier finally conscious turned to Geralt as much as he could,” This is the part where we escape.”

“This is the part where they kill us!”

“Who’s they?”

Two figures walk into the cave, the female one striding forward and kicking the two bound men, Naz groaning awake behind them after being shoved over by the force of them ramming into her. 

“ **_Beast_ **!” The female figure spat at Geralt in Elder, who answered Jaskier’s question in a similar tone.

“Elves.”

“Oi, that’s my lute. Give that back,” Jaskier pleaded as the male elf began to destroy his instrument,” Quick, Geralt, Naz. Do your- your witchering - “

“Shut up!” It was Naz this time, who was now fully aware of the situation and none too pleased about it. _Fucken Elves_. 

“No,” replied Jaskier indignantly.

“ **_You shut up!_ **” commanded the female elf, getting more agitated by the second.

“My Elder speech is a little rough,” explained Jaskier,” I only got part of that.”

“Humans, shut up,” said the elf in common, venom dripping in her voice.

“ **_Ah, got it, thanks so much_** ,” the bard said in Elder, sarcasm rich in his tone.

“Do you want to die right now?”

“As opposed to later?” sassed Naz, before the female elf kicked Jaskier again in retaliation while the other elf finished breaking apart Jaskier’s lute(“No, not the lu - “), each twang of the dying instrument in time with each the female elf landed on Geralt.

“Leave off! He’s just a bard!”

She punched him,” You don’t deserve the air you breathe.” - Another punch - “Everything you touch you destroy.”

And as if to prove a point, the other elf broke the lute over his knee, effectively destroying it. Jaskier didn’t take it too well and opened his mouth to spew hatred at them.

“You hide in your golden palaces!” - Naz scoffed at this, knowing that the bard couldn’t be further from the truth - “You beat a bound man, too scared to even look him in the eye!”

“Do you like my palace? Hmm?” the she-elf grabs Geralt’s chin forcing him to look her in the eyes,” Does it live up to the tales you humans tell?”

Naz, who had been mostly silent this entire time, rolled onto her hands and used her upper arm strength to swivel around and kick the she-elf in the face, away from Geralt who tossed a grateful look. Though that was quickly replaced with surprise as the momentum from the kick caused Naz to temporarily straddle Geralt’s lap, though she quickly rolled off, bound hands clasped to her chest as Jaskier cheered.

“Yeah, take that, pointy!” Though he became concerned when the she-elf fell into a violent coughing fit,” Wait, what’s- what’s wrong with her?”

Two more figures enter the cave, one of them an elf Naz recognized immediately, and the other the Sylvan from earlier, Torque.

“She’s sick,” Filivandrel informed, heading to the sick woman’s side, along with Torque.

“Oh, and who’s this?” asked Jaskier as they attended to the she-elf.

“He’s Filivandrel, _King_ of the Elves,” Naz spat, her tone more venomous than Geralt had ever heard it. Filivandrel sighed,” Not a king, not by _choice_.”

Naz scoffed, Geralt glanced at her curiously before addressing the Sylvan,” You were stealing for them.”

Torque addressed him, though he also appeared confused at Naz’s contempt,” I felt for them. They were forced out of Dol Blanthanna.”

“Forced out?” Jaskier also puzzled,” No, the chose-”

Whirling around, Naz’s glare settled on Jaskier,” Do you know of _anyone_ who would _choose_ to leave their home? To starve? To have a _Sylvan_ steal for them?”

Jaskier was quickly silenced, wondering what could have possibly pissed Naz off so much, aside from the kidnapping. Geralt was curious too, Naz had been mostly calm until Filivandrel stepped into the cave, then her rage skyrocketed, it was apparent the two had a history. Naz ignored both of the men’s concerned glances in favor of focusing all of her hatred on the person who brought it about, her breath coming in short pants as her heartbeat fastened to drum in time with the rhythm of her anger. Torque turned back to the she-elf,” Toruviel, no one was supposed to get hurt.”

Toruviel turned to spit out blood,” What’s three humans in the ground when countless elves have died?”

“ _One_ human,” Naz rebutted, rage evident in every fiber of her being,” And you can let him go.”

“Then Posada will learn that we’ve been stealing,” Filivandrel finally addressed the woman,” The humans will attack. Many will die… on both sides.”

Naz struggled to her feet, hands still bound, to stand eye level with the elf, before Geralt spoke up, interrupting the intense glares the two were throwing at each other,” The lesser evil. No matter what you choose, you’ll come out bloody and _hating_ yourself. Trust me.”

“That’s the problem,” Filivandrel addressed Geralt, turning away from Naz to stand in front of the Witcher,” I can’t.” - He moved to unsheath his sword - “This is necessary.”

“That is such bull-,” Naz spoke, before Geralt interrupted her again, looking at Filivandrel without acceptance,” I understand. As long as you understand… that it won’t be long before you follow me in death.”

“Yes,” Filivandrel agreed, becoming just as heated as Naz,” Because they pushed us from viable soil. Even chaos is polluted. Synthetically enhanced so humans can make magic.”

Naz huffed in disbelief,” Chaos is the same as it’s always been, humans just adapted better. And as if you have room to speak on forcing people from their homes. These lands belonged to my people long before they were the Elves, and certainly long before the humans took it from you.”

“Nazirah-”

“ _Don’t call me that._ ”

“You say adapt, I say destroy.”

“You are _choosing_ to starve,” Naz spat, positively quaking at the audacity of the “King” in front of her,” You’re cutting off your ear to spite your face.”

“You think this is about pride?” Filivandrel leered, face portraying cruelty,” My elders worked with the humans and got robbed of all they had. And when they fought back, they were slaughtered. ‘The Great Cleansing’, humans call it. I called it digging a mass grave for everyone I loved. And now the humans proudly watch these very fields grow… our babies fertilizer for their grain. I don’t wish to bury anyone else. I was once Filvandrel of the Silver Towers, now I’m Filivandrel of the Edge of the World. If I bring my people down from these mountains, it would mean bowing to human sovereignty. They’ll make slaves of us, pariahs of half-blood children.”

“Then go somewhere else,” Geralt spoke, becoming steadily more puzzled by the tension between Naz and Filivandrel,” Rebuild. Get strong again. Show the human that you are more than what they _fear_ you to be.”

“Like you, Witcher?” Filivandrel said, taking in Geralt’s words. Naz looked down at the mutant in wonder, because, somehow, in the time the two had been traveling together he had become much wiser than she could’ve thought possible. She supposed had she not been so angry with Filivandrel she might have offered similar advice, but Naz was certainly more comfortable to seethe in rage for the time being.

“I have learned to live with them, so that I may live,” Geralt replied, his body finally relaxed.

Toruviel stood up to address Filivandrel, empowered by the Witcher’s speech,” Please, my King. There are others. A new generation. Evellian who wish to fight! Let us take back what’s ours. Starting now.”

Filivandrel draws his dagger, a severe expression on his face. Torque moved to stop him,” Wait!”

“Torque, stand aside!”

“The Witcher could have killed me,” Torque defended,” But he didn’t. He’s different. Like us.”

Filivandrel only shoved the Sylvan aside, gaze focused on where Geralt and Jaskier sit tied together at his feet. Naz also moved to stop him but was held back by Toruviel, though she stopped struggling when Geralt spoke.

“If you must kill me… I am ready,” His voice was steady, though Geralt could tell Naz was two seconds from ripping them all to shreds, though still unaware of the reason for her anger,” But the Sylvan’s right. Don’t call me human.”

The Elven King readies his blade, Geralt bearing his neck in submission to him before slicing the ropes tying the Witcher to Jaskier. Naz sighed in relief that Filivandrel decided to spare them, though she could have done without his ridiculous theatrics. He moved to Naz next, cutting off the ropes wrapped around her wrists. Naz rubbed them for a second before meeting Filivandrel’s eyes. Naz took a deep breath through her nostrils before he spoke again.

“Nazirah-”

She punched him in the face. Filivandrel’s head whipped to the side while everyone else stood, shell-shocked. He chuckled,” That’s exactly how I remember. I suppose I deserved that.”

“You _suppose_ ?” Naz raged,” You absolute dickhead. You deserve a hell of a lot more than that, but I’d like to hear what apology you might offer before I beat the absolute _shit_ out of you for leaving me in that forest you pathetic-”

“I’m sorry.”

Naz paused her rant to look at him incredulously, she was prepared to begin skinning him alive and here he is apologizing to her. She was tempted to punch him again for his stupidity instead she crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly.

“I-I shouldn’t have left you there. But I looked at you and thought you already dead, and I know that’s not an excuse. I should have physically checked, but everything had gone wrong so fast and I was in a panic, so I left you there. I’ll never be able to say enough to make up for what I did, nor will I ask for your forgiveness. You were right, I betrayed you, and I deserve a hell of a lot more than a simple punch to the face, but-”

“Will you _please_ shut the fuck up for two seconds so I can speak you twat?”

Filivandrel quickly shut his mouth while Naz contemplated what to say for a moment. Naz took a steadying breath, eyes focused on her shaking fists before Geralt laid a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her. Her crimson hues snapped up to meet his golden ones, they only encouraged her to speak the words laying heavy on her chest. Everyone watched their silent exchange in bewilderment, though they could clearly see how close the two were. Naz nodded at him before sighing and turning to face Filivandrel,” I’ve thought for _years_ about what I would say to you if I ever saw you again, but nothing I could think of seemed adequate enough to express to you the depths of _torment_ you subjected me to when you abandoned me that day.”

Filivandrel spared her a pitying expression,” Naz, I-”

“ **_Interrupt me one more time and see what happens_ ** _.”_

The Elven King closed his mouth once more, startled by her sudden Elder speech, patiently waiting for Naz to speak again. Sighing once more, she continued,” At first I was just so _angry_. You had betrayed me in the exact way you knew I feared, and of course, you would know because I used to be your best friend. I turned my back on my kingdom for you, to save your people from the human’s genocide, and how was I rewarded? Left to die at the hands of _men_ by someone I trusted implicitly. And I would have died, Filivandrel, had I not _slaughtered_ them all. Every single one. You can’t speak to me of the suffering you have endured when everything that I have suffered is because of you. These scars on my face are because of _you_. My people will never allow me to return home because I betrayed them for _you_. I gave up everything I had ever known for _you_. And you are right, there is nothing, _nothing_ , you can say that will ever change that. You _don’t_ deserve my forgiveness or anything at all from me, but I have to let go, I _have_ to put this behind me. I can’t hold on to this hatred anymore, it will destroy me. So I forgive you, Fili, because everything that I have become since that day is thanks to you. I’ve found my place in this world, now it’s time you found yours.”

Tears were streaming down both of their faces by the time she had finished, Jaskier shedding several tears himself, admiring Naz’s strength. Geralt was also moved by the Dragoness’ speech, though he couldn’t help but feel a sliver of guilt as he blamed himself for getting Naz involved with the tragedy at Blaviken, causing her more pain in what was apparently a very long tale of sorrow. Filivandrel, face wet with tears, nodded his assent, before whispering a quiet,” Thank you.”

Naz’s face had grown impassive, the tear stains on her face the only remnants of her previously pained expression,” Don’t thank me. Just do what I told you for once, dickhead.”  
Filivandrel chuckled lightly at her comment, the atmosphere in the cave instantly brightening as he agreed to listen to her advice. Naz nodded in acknowledgment, turning to leave the cave, only to pause for a moment and face the Elven King again.

“Before we go, there’s something I need from you.”

“Anything.”

Naz smirked, moving faster than any of them could have anticipated, grabbing Filivandrel by his hair and smashing his face into her knee before forcing him to kneel in front of her. Leaning down to look him in the eye while everyone was still too stunned to move she muttered menacingly,” You owe the bard a new lute.”

-

The screams woke Ciri up from her dreamless slumber, panic settling deep in her bones when she realized they weren’t hers. She could hear the clashing of swords as everyone around her flitted around, gathering their belongings as they rushed to escape the attack.

“Lilja! Quick!” a man called to the woman,” Nilfgaard. They’re here! They’re here!”

“What’s happening?” Ciri asked from her cot, still disoriented from sleep. No one answered her in their panic.

“Go get the horse. Find Adon and Zeke,” Lilja orders Abbott, handing-off a sack full of expensive dinnerware,” And take this.”

Abbott attempts to take the sack from Lilja but accidentally drops it. Lilja, furious at the dwarf’s incompetence, harshly scolds him,” You stupid little shit! Pick it up and go! Go!”

She slaps the dwarf hard before turning around to continue gathering things before escaping. However, Cirilla watches as Abbott’s face hardens as glances around before picking up a knife. She witnesses as the dwarf retaliates to the abuse and stabs Lilja repeated in the back. Horrified, Ciri scrambles from her cot and backs herself into one of the walls of the tent, too shocked by the scene occurring before her to look away. Lilja falls to the ground as the dwarf continues his attack, crying for the girl’s help. Cirilla can only slightly shake her head in fear, too stunned to do anything but watch as Lilja is killed in front of her. She startled from her terror when someone cuts a hole in the tent’s side next to her, they grabbed her and dragged her out. Ciri struggled for a moment before she realized it was the dark-skinned boy from earlier.

“It’s you,” the boy begins running away, expecting her to follow,” Wait!”

Ciri chases after him, dodging the Cintrans running about trying to escape the Nilfgaardian soldiers. She stops when she comes across Adon lying on the ground, eyes open, an arrow through his chest, face devoid of color, and covered in blood. Ciri mourns for the boy who had shown her such kindness, and the hope that he might have become a knight one day. She looks around at the carnage occurring before her in panic when she realizes she’s lost sight of the dark-skinned boy who rescued her from the tent. A horse’s neigh in the distance catches her attention, though she quickly turns away from it when she sees the rider. _The man with the bird on his head_. The Princess hastily pulls up her hood, hoping to avoid his eyes so that he can’t capture her again. Rat boy returns to her side and grabs her arms, silently urging her to follow him. This time she stays right on his heels as they escape into the forest together.

-

Naz now found herself on Zhadow, next to Geralt on Roach, Jaskier walking between them in Posada’s mountain valley. It was almost as if nothing had happened, though Naz knew Geralt would have many questions for her when they finally left the company of the bard.

“Credit where credit is due. That whole reverse-psychology thing you two did on them was brilliant, by the way. ‘Kill me, I’m ready’” - This earned a snort from Naz at the poor imitation of Geralt, who glared harshly as the bard - “That’s the conclusion. They just let us go, and you give all of Nettly’s coin to the Elves.”

“Filivandriel’s lute not gift enough for you?” Imparted Naz, gazing down at the bard in question.

“Yeah, she is a bit sexy, isn’t she?” Jaskier commented,” I do have respect for Filivandrel. He survived the Great Cleansing once, who knows? Maybe he can do it again. Be reborn.” - Naz thought about it, and she could only hope that this once he fucking listened to her - “ _Will the elf king heed what the Dragoness entreats? Is history a wheel, doomed to repeat?_ No, that’s… that’s shit.”

“This is where we part ways, bard, for good,” informed Geralt, ready to move back to actual monster hunting with Naz as soon as possible. 

“Look, I promised to change the public’s tune about you,” Jaskier pulled his new lute into his hands,” At least allow me to try.”

Naz and Geralt shared a look, both quite finished with the bard’s antics, and not wishing to further entertain him, but neither could deny they had formed a sort of endearment for the idiotic man in these past hours.

“ _When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song. From when the White Wolf fought a silver-tongued devil, his army of elves, at his hooves did they travel. They came after me with masterful deceit, broke down my lute, and they kicked in my teeth. While the devil’s horns minced our tender meat and so cried the dragon,’ He can’t be bleat’-”_

-

After some time of running, Ciri and Rat Boy stop by a stream to drink. Cupping some water into her hands, the Princess gulps down the cold water before looking up slightly to see the boy’s hat in his hand. Curious her head jerks up, only for her to be shocked when she finds the boy’s ears are pointed.

“You’re an elf,” She utters, the boy looks at her in alarm as they both stand-up, facing each other, on opposite sides of the stream. Noticing the boy’s fright, she attempts to ease it by expressing her gratitude,” Thank you.”

 _Treat all beings with the respect you would treat yourself._ Naz’s words echoed in Ciri’s head, a reminder of the promise she had made to her. The boy sized her up for a moment, confused by her attitude before offering his name,” I’m Dara.” 

“I’m Ciri.”

Neither of them spoke after that. Dara put his cap back on, covering his ears, while Ciri crossed the stream to join him at his side. Together they began walking further into the woods, but Cirilla’s thoughts were far from silent. A picture of Naz smiling at her appeared in her mind’s eye.

_That’s my little dragon._

-

“That’s not how it happened,” interrupted Geralt,” Where’s your newfound respect?”

“Respect doesn’t make history,” Jaskier replied before returning to singing,” _Toss a coin to your Witcher, O Valley of Plenty…”_

The two warriors hummed in thought. The bard wasn’t wrong if the last day was anything to go by. Naz thought on it for several moments as the bard continued singing, how much of history had been changed to fit a particular narrative? How many lies had humanity surrounded themselves, with no respect for those who they disgraced in the process, in an attempt to escape the consequences of their own hubris? Naz thought on her history and was appalled at the thought of someone changing it to fit their needs. Her suffering was not something to be erased or forgotten, she deserved more than that. Glancing over at Geralt, Naz wondered how she was going to explain everything to the man without revealing the parts of herself she wasn’t ready for him to know. Sighing to herself she tuned back into Jaskier’s singing.

“ _At the edge of the world, fight the mighty horn that bashes and breaks you and brings you to mourn. She thrust every elf far back on the shelf, high up on the mountain from whence it came. He wiped out your pest, got kicked in his chest, he’s a friend of humanity so give him the rest. That’s my epic tale, our champions prevailed, defeated the villain, now pour them some ale! Toss a coin to your Witcher, O valley of Plenty...Toss a coin to your Witcher, a friend of humanity…”_


	3. Onyx

“It comes on a full moon…to feed.”

In a miner’s hut in the kingdom of Temeria a young boy named Mikal lays, breath labored, deeps claw marks across his chest as his father tends to him. A Witcher stands in the corner of the room, wrapped in shadows, smoking from a pipe as he listens to the boy as he recounts his attack.

“That’s what Ma used to say,” Mikal gasps out, breath becoming harder to catch as he loses more blood,” When a wolf… crosses a maiden’s grave. A pregnant girl who died before her time. That babe… starts growing… right in her belly.”

The Witcher exhales the smoke from his pipe, the boy pausing as he has a coughing fit. His father moves swiftly to tend to the sick boy, rubbing a wet cloth across his temple.

“When it’s big enough… that babe rips out,” The boy quakes with fear as he continues,” Only it ain’t a babe no more.” - The boy’s breath comes in harder pants now - “ It’s a monster. A vukodlak.”

The Witcher steps into the light as the boy identifies the creature that attacked him.

“I swear, Witcher,” Mikal shivers, fright causing his breath to become shorter,” That’s what got me. I swear I saw it. I swear on my Ma’s grave. I saw it…”

Tsoka, Mikal’s father, shushes him, brushing back his hair from his sweaty forehead in a calming manner, trying to ease his son’s growing panic. The Witcher addresses Tsoka about payment as Mikal coughs behind them.

“Three thousand Orens. Up front.”

Tsoka shoves the money into the Witcher’s chest angrily before turning back to his son only to find that there is no breath in Mikal’s lungs. Tsoka sits down next to his son’s still body, cradling his face pressing his forehead against the boy’s. Despaired screams echo through the mine.

The Witcher now approaches a trail of blood on the snowy ground leading into a butcher’s shack, his eyes finding the body of said butcher inside the open door. Upon entering the building, he senses the monster’s presence and draws his sword from its sheath, holding it defensively in front of him as he weaves his way through the sacks of meat hanging from the ceiling above. Eyes blackened with the effects of the sparrow potion, the Witcher treads further into the shack on high alert. He hears the mangled screeching of a woman coming from different directions, one after the other, the whistling sound of the creature’s movements as it flits about the room with inhuman speed. He turns to the general location of each sound, attuning his senses to the beast’s movements. Sensing the creature behind him, he turns to face it, only to be gutted by the creature before he can defend himself.

-

Naz lay in the room she had rented, sated, next to the woman she had been frequently meeting since her arrival at the little inn just outside Temeria’s borders. Her bare arm rested behind her head, scars on full display. While the marks on her face were the largest, as they started above her brow and ran down across to her right shoulder, there were several others scattered about, some of which were covered by her various tattoos. On her left forearm was a dragon intricately curled around two roses, a waning crescent moon curved behind its head. Down her back were two dragon-like wings, each scale delicately shaded and drawn on her skin. Across her chest was another dragon, this one much larger, wings curving over the tops of her breasts, head nestled between her collarbones, body laying across her sternum, tail curled slightly into her abdomen. A strange symbol of two snakes rested on her right shoulder, they were curled in a circle biting down on each other’s tails, a perfect loop. Naz’s lover, a woman named Vera, traced each of the designs absentmindedly, curious. The warrior hummed in content as Vera’s fingers ran delicately of her exposed skin, though she could sense her questions.

“Are these why they call you the Dragoness?” Vera inquired, finally breaking the silence,” Your tattoos?”

Naz sighed,” Mostly, though few know the real reason that title started.”

“And what reason is that?”

Naz let out a small grunt but did not answer, only reached over to grab the wine sitting on the table beside the bed, gulping a copious amount in one go. Being the considerate woman she is, Vera sensed that Naz didn’t want to talk about the real reason she was called the Dragoness and moved on to a different topic of conversation. 

“A friend of yours came through here about a month ago, headed for Temeria.”

The warrior sat up against the headboard and looked at the woman curiously,” Friend?”

“Another Witcher,” Vera clarified,” Like your travel companion. Danica told me about him, well, complained really, but you get what I’m saying.”

Naz chuckled at her, hearing the innkeeper yelling at a room a few doors down, where she knew Geralt had been staying. She returned to questioning Vera about this mysterious second Witcher,” What’s in Temeria?”

Vera’s eyes had trailed to the door too upon hearing the innkeeper, but refocused her attention on Naz,” It’s got a pest problem. A few miners gathered up three-thousand Orens to have it killed. Apparently, the Witcher took the coin and ran, if Danica is telling the truth.”

Naz’s brows furrowed at this information. Witcher’s weren’t cowards, they didn’t run from anything, they were taught to have no emotions so regular human instincts like running away from fear don’t affect them. The warrior knew they still felt emotion, had witnessed it herself several times in her travels with Geralt. Her thoughts were interrupted, however, when Geralt burst into the room, expressionless. Only for his eyes to widen considerably when he finds Naz with company, female company no less.

“Uh…” Naz lifts a questioning eyebrow at his reaction while Geralt gulps awkwardly and addresses the two naked women,” Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt but we’ve got to go, Naz.”

Sighing, Naz turns to Vera,” Looks like I’ve got a monster to hunt, will you still be here when I get back?”

Vera nods tiredly, the exhaustion from their activities finally catching up to her. Naz smiles and pulls a blanket over the woman, before turning back to Geralt who had been watching their exchange in silence. Naz raises her eyebrow at him again, silently telling him to leave so she can dress. Geralt nods before hastily exiting the room, still a little embarrassed to have caught Naz in such a state. Naz chuckled at the Witcher’s antics before gathering her clothes and dressing quickly, also grabbing her coin purse. She spares Vera a parting glance, glad to see the woman fast asleep, before making her exit. On her way to meet Geralt at the horses, she runs into the innkeeper, headed in the same direction. Handing him her coin purse,” That should be enough for the room for the rest of the week.”

The innkeeper scoffed at her, snatching the coin,” You got enough for your Witcher friend?”

Naz glared at the man for his rudeness, but ultimately let it go,” ‘Fraid not.”

The warrior doesn’t wait for his reply and hurries outside where she sees Geralt with Roach and Zhadow. Roach huffs at the Witcher, nudging him while Naz approaches Zhadow.

“Don’t judge me,” Geralt says to the mare before turning to the innkeeper,” I’ll be back with payment in a few days. Anything happens to our horses…”

“You don’t scare me,” the innkeeper sneers at the man. Geralt takes this as a challenge and steps closer to the other man, leering over him to intimidate him.

“Point me to Temeria.”

The innkeeper, now shaking in his boots, raises a finger in the direction of the kingdom. Naz laughs quietly to herself at the scene. _Put your dicks away, assholes_. She places a parting stroke on Zhadow’s muzzle before joining Geralt. The snow crunching underneath their boots as they headed towards the mine.

“So…” Geralt began, not sure how to phrase it.  
“Yes, Geralt, I like women,” Naz replied, rolling her eyes at the man.

“I wasn’t - “

“Yes, yes, you were,” Naz interrupted,” However, I still like men, too.”

“Oh,” Geralt breathed,” Um…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Naz replied to his unvoiced question,” I took no offense by your reaction.” 

“Okay,” Geralt cleared his throat, still not meeting Naz’s eyes,” Good.”

The warrior smirked at the Witcher’s inability to look at her, but chose not to comment on it, though she knew the Witcher was still full of questions. 

“You’ve got tattoos.” 

Though it was phrased like a statement, it came out a bit like a question.

“Yes, quite of few,” Naz replied, secretly enjoying Geralt’s discomfort more than she would ever admit.

“Are they all dragons?” Geralt asked,” Is that why everyone’s been calling you the Dragoness?”

Naz hummed thoughtfully, expression darkening slightly at the mention of her title,” Most of them are, but, no, that’s not why they call me the Dragoness.”

Geralt could tell from her reply that she wasn’t going to elaborate any further and let the conversation drop. He nodded at her slightly, before allowing them to continue the rest of the journey in silence.

After walking through the cold night air for several miles, the two warriors came across a tunnel leading underground, greeted by a sign that read _Temeria: Realm of Monsters and Cowardly Kings_. Naz and Geralt shared a look after reading the sign, everything about this hunt becoming more curious by the second. They set off into the mine, soon coming upon a gathering of the miners, though they went completely unnoticed so they silently agreed to observe the group for a moment and sat back on some crates to observe the men before them.

“Years of attacks by this creature, and the king does nothing,” A human miner says, anger evident,” We must force his hand. Lay down our picks… and refuse to work.”

“And a half-measure ain’t gonna do!” A one-eyed dwarf agreed,” We’ve got to move on. Plenty of work south of Sodden.”

The others murmured their agreements before a loud clang caused the chatter to stop.

“My son, rest his soul, told me in Nilfgaard the king diddled whores while his subjects starved,” Tsoka spoke up,” Then someone came. The Usurper. And he rallied the people, and they took back what was theirs!”

“Yeah!”

The miners rally behind Tsoka’s message, raising their tools in the air as they express their agreement.

“I say we follow their lead!”

The miners cheer again before their excitement is ruined by Geralt speaking up.

”You can’t kill the vukodlak… so you decide to kill your king?” Geralt scoffs,” Great plan.”

“Another fuckin’ Witcher,” Tsoka sneers, glaring at Geralt angrily,” Your kind already swindled us once.”

“I take payment after the job is done,” Geralt explained,” And for a third of the price. An apology… from my guild to yours.”

Tsoka seemed to consider his offer, turning to the miner who spoke first, who shrugged.

”And if you can’t kill it?”

Naz and Geralt shared a look before speaking in unison,” Then we die.”

Before the miner had time to reply, the sound of several men marching comes echoing down the tunnel, everyone turning to investigate the commotion. Several soldiers, as well as a few horses, in matching armor entered the cavern where everyone had gathered, brandishing weapons and falling into formation in front of the miners. A man calls out to the gathered men, who part as he makes his way forward. 

“Please,” Lord Ostrit spoke,” Everyone remain calm. Lower your weapons and return to your homes. Do so quickly and without further theatrics, and you have my word that our king will not hear of this treason.”

“Foltest commits treason,” Tsoka rebuked, approaching the lord,” He hides in his winter castle as we” - He gestures to the miners behind him - “ are eaten.”

The miners call their agreement, raising their picks as they rally together behind Tsoka.

“Mikal was a good boy,” Lord Ostrit places a hand on Tsoka’s shoulder in an attempt to deescalate the situation,” Revenge will not ease your pain.”

While Naz agreed, there was something off about the man that she couldn’t put a finger on, as such she immediately didn’t trust him. Tsoka seemed to agree with Naz’s inner opinion of the lord as he shoves away his hands and spits at his feet in disrespect. Naz admires the miner’s boldness, though grows uneasy with the rising tension between the two groups as the soldiers behind Ostrit raise their weapons, the miners copying them. However, before one group can engage the other, Ostrit raises his hand in a silent command for the royal guard to put their weapons away, which they follow shortly thereafter. 

“You know nothing of my pain,” Tsoka spat before turning and walking away with the other miners. Naz took this moment to vanish undetected as well, having someone she needed to see in the village that she didn’t want Geralt to know about. Luckily, the Witcher didn’t notice her disappearance, too focused on the soldiers.

“Does Foltest have a plan?” Geralt asks Lord Ostrit, who only spares him a glance before turning to the guards behind him.

“See this one to our borders,” Ostrit commands,” Temeria’s had their fill… of Witchers.”

Geralt looked at him in bewilderment. _One?_ It was then he noticed that Naz was nowhere to be found. Geralt searched for her, though couldn’t find a trace of her around. Sighing to himself, hoping Naz would show up sooner rather than later, he allowed the guards to escort him to Temeria’s borders.

-

Naz found her way into Temeria’s village, hood pulled up at to avoid detection as sleuthed about the shadows, making her way to her destination. Coming across a small house with only a small amount of candlelight leaking through the window, Naz took a deep breath before knocking quietly at the door. After several moments of silence, the door creaks open, a teenage girl behind it, staring at Naz inquisitively though she recognized her after a few seconds. The girl wanted to be angry at her, but considering the condition her grandmother was in, she decided against it, only opening the door wider, inviting the warrior inside. Naz thanked her as she passed by, removing her hood as she did. The girl only nodded to the door down the hall before returning to her own room, not sparing Naz another glance. The warrior understood the girl’s displeasure with her but decided not to focus on it and instead made her way towards the closed door at the end of the hall. The wood planks that served as the house’s floor groaned with each step Naz made, but she ignored it as she finally entered the room where a single figure lay, breath slow and labored as they lay on the bed. Naz shuddered at the scent of sorrow that encapsulated the room and approached the bed, sitting down on the chair placed carefully next to it. Now that she was closer, she could clearly see that state that the elderly woman was in, Naz could also sense the life slowly leaving her with each breath. Tears gathered in her eyes as she looked down at the woman she loved, still so beautiful even as she lay dying of old age. Taking the woman’s still and cold hand in her warm ones, Naz began to speak softly to her.  
“Hello, Gwyneth,” She whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears,” It’s been a long time.”

At this admission, Gwyneth began to stir, eyes begrudgingly blinking open at the sound of Naz’s voice.

“Nazirah, my dragon,” Gwyneth’s head turned toward her,” Oh… it is you.”

Naz smiled at her, still stunned by Gwyn’s bewitching green orbs that glittered in the low candlelight with mischief, even now.

“Yes, my love,” Naz replied, stroking her face,” I’m sorry I took so long.”

“You…,” Gwyneth’s eyes wandered lazily over Naz’s features,” You look just as beautiful as the day you left.”

Naz huffed a laugh at her comment,” And you, my darling Gwyn, have grown more stunning with age.”

This time, Gwyn rolled her eyes at the other woman,” You jest. If anything, age had caused me to lose such spirit.”

Naz combed a hand through Gwyneth’s hair, a genuine smile on her face,” Nothing could ever diminish your spirit, my dear. Your body has just outgrown the ability to endure it.”

“Hmm…” Gwyneth hummed tiredly in reply,” Sing to me… before I go. I think that last thing I want to hear before I greet Death is your voice…”

Naz’s smile fell at her former lover’s request, but could not deny her, and so she softly kissed her forehead as Gwyneth’s eyes drifted closed once more, only this time they wouldn’t open again.

“ _Heart beats fast, colors and promises…”_

The tears Naz had been holding back finally fell down her face as she watched her former lover fall into endless sleep, softly singing her favorite song.

-

Naz left shortly after arrived, informing Gwyneth’s granddaughter, Aria, of her grandmother’s fast approaching passing before she left. The girl had only nodded in resignation as she made her exit, taking Naz’s place at Gwyn’s side. Naz sighed to herself before heading where she suspected Geralt was, she eventually came upon a tower outside the king’s castle and invited herself inside, following the sound of a woman’s voice.

“... citizens were disappearing throughout all Temeria. Foltest’s royal guard soon realized the creature was coming from the crypt where the king’s sister Adda is buried. Rumor had it she was having an affair with a man in town when she died.”

“Was she pregnant?” Replied Geralt’s gruff voice as Naz approached the two, going unseen by either of the people in the room., mostly due to the low light from the flickering candles. Naz studied the laboratory while the two conversed, taking the various shelves with miscellaneous items for potions, as well as the vines that crept up the stone walls, despite the fact that they were inside. _Interesting_.

“Well, is she were,” Triss, the sorceress, spoke, interrupting Naz’s train of thought,” That would make her child the sole heir to the throne as Foltest never married. The king fled the castle, ignoring the rising death toll. After Nilfgaard overthrew their king, the brotherhood couldn’t risk it happening again, so they sent me here three months ago to cure the creature.”

“Vukodlaks are freak mutations,” Naz spoke up as she finally entered their view,” They can’t be cured.”

Both of them started at her presence, Geralt looking at her with interrogative eyes, as he could sense the heavy sorrow surrounding her and wondered where exactly she had disappeared to, which Naz pointedly ignored in favor of staring into the soul of the witch. Triss looked at her curiously after gathering her wits about her from Naz’s surprise entrance before she shared a glance with the two monster hunters.

“Good thing it’s not a vukodlak.”

Both Geralt and Naz looked at her in bewilderment as she began to lead them down into the catacombs beneath the castle where several bodies had been collected, each covered in salt to help preserve them.

“Two thousand Orens if you can tell me what exactly killed these people.”

The two warriors scanned the bodies, both their gazes landing simultaneously on the body of another Witcher. Geralt glared at Triss before stepping forward towards the body reaching down and snapping the other Witcher’s medallion from his neck before turning back to the sorceress.

“You didn’t want the people to know that it had bested a Witcher,” Geralt gritted out, nostrils flaring slightly in anger. Naz couldn’t help but agree with Geralt,” And you let them believe that he fled with their coin.”

The weight of their glares settled on Triss who looked back at them with a guilty expression, though she said nothing to defend herself. Geralt spared her one more glance before tucking the medallion into his belt and turning to investigate the body. Reaching into the other Witcher’s chest cavity he began feeling around his organs, finding two, in particular, to be absent.

“You two clearly weren’t acquainted,” The sorceress remarked, though she received a harsh glare from Naz that informed her that the comment was far from appropriate. Triss gave her an apologetic smile, to which Naz just shook her head, s small smirk on her face. A remembrance of times past.

“His heart’s missing along with his liver,” Geralt informed, pulling his hand back and swiping of the salt remnants,” Only one creature I know is that picky an eater.”

“Fuck,” Naz muttered,” A striga.”

Geralt nodded his confirmation, though Triss looked between the two in disbelief,” Striga’s are old wives’ tales.”

Naz scoffed,” They’re very rare. The only way to make one is through a curse.”

Triss started at the revelation,” Someone wanted Adda dead.”

“Mm-hmm,” Geralt agreed,” But the curse didn’t stop with Adda. It turned her daughter into a monster.”

“Her daughter?” Triss inquired, puzzled by the Witcher’s sure attitude.

“Strigas are female,” Naz informed, sharing a meaningful look with Geralt,” This Striga’s a princess.”

That was how the three of them found themselves in Foltest’s dining room, the aforementioned King greedily eating the food in front of him while the Captain of his guard, Segelin, and Triss argued over the two monster hunters’ theory. 

“Miss Merigold, you were dispatched to settle a family affair,” Segelin huffed, reeking of arrogance,” Not to enlist two mutant mercenaries for a game of sleuthing.”

Naz felt tempted to correct the Captain on her identity, just to see the look on his face, but opted to stay quiet as she wasn’t ready for anyone else to know that yet.

“This is no game, Captian,” Triss countered,” Tonight is a full moon and these two have already proven themselves invaluable. We believe we can cure the creature.”

“You say she’s a girl,” the lack of respect for Triss’ words evident,” Then you will refer to her as Her Royal Highness.”

Naz was more than prepared the deck the knight for the way he spoke to the sorceress, but Lord Ostrit stepped in before she could,” Segelin, I believe urgency warrants flexibility in court decorum.”

“Their theory is nonsense,” Segelin rebuked,” Princess Adda was the people’s angel. Who’s wish to murder her?”

“What about her lover?” Geralt spoke, his deep baritone slicing through the air. It was at this question that King Foltest stopped eating, a fact both Naz and Geralt took note of. Segelin seemed to bristle at the accusation,” Seditious rumors. Idle courtesans trading out boredom for jealousy.”

“Perhaps if you called off your guards,” Triss pleaded,” If we were able to search the abandoned castle, we could find clues as to who cursed her.”

“Except this Witcher would kill the princess as she sleeps, and collect the miners’ coin.”

Naz clenched her fists at Segelin’s audacity, more than prepared to defend Geralt’s honor when the Witcher himself shook his head at her, used to this treatment. Naz’s face only hardened in contempt as she let out the breath she had been holding, her anger still pumping vivaciously through her veins.

“Call her a princess,” Naz’s voice gruffed out, lowered in silent threat,” Call her a unicorn if you’d like to. She grew inside Adda, feeding on her petrified womb.”

Segelin started at the woman’s voice, face aghast with horror,” Have you no respect?”

“Mutating. Growing for years till she got so hungry… she was forced to slither out,” Naz continued, approaching the Captian, undeterred, as he tightened the grip on his sword hilt,” Rotten muscle, bent bones, two spidery legs, claws dragging in the dirt. An overgrown _abortion_.”

“Enough.”

The new voice was King Foltest, who had begun eating again after the shift in conversation. They all turned to him, surprised by his interruption, though Segelin addressed him first,” Your Highness?”

“ _Leave_ ,” Foltest growled out.

Naz and Geralt exchange in silent communication with one another as they lead everyone out. Geralt opened one door, Naz the other, as they gesture for everyone else to exit first, Triss sparing the two warriors an appreciative smile, though her gaze settled on Naz for a moment longer than Geralt, something he took note of. Segelin was last, he looked between the two of them, face scrunched in suspicion. Naz smirked at him before she unceremoniously shoved him out of the room, Geralt and herself closing and locking the door behind them. Naz leaned back against the doors as the guards outside began banging on it and demanding to be let in. The warrior only smirked as the doors didn’t move an inch under the force of the guards pounding while she was pressed back against it. Geralt approached King Foltest with a grave expression, thought the King in question looked as though he couldn’t be bothered as he continued to devour the food in front of him. Naz looked at him, appalled by his lack of decorum.

“Who’s the princess’ father?” Geralt inquired, beginning his interrogation resting an arm on the back of the chair opposite the king.

“My men will kill you, Witcher,” Foltest deflected, still chewing on whatever it was he had leftover in his mouth.

“Hmm. It’s funny,” Geralt hummed, approaching the King in a relaxed nature before shifting course and leaning against the nearby cupboard,” You learn that your sister was murdered, and you didn’t even flinch. But the moment I mention the girl’s father… Why were you never married?”

“You are speaking to a King,” Foltest gestured to himself before leaning back in his chair.

 _Then you should act like one, dickwad_. Naz thought to herself, also drawing the same conclusion about the princess’ lineage.

“That is exactly my point,” Geralt admitted,” Why not produce your own heir? Why not kill the Striga and avoid this revolt? Why drag this all out? Between you and us… who is the Striga’s father?”

Foltest seems to have some sort of internal battle with himself before he shoves his chair back and rises to face Geralt. Naz tenses as he does so, even though she knows he poses no threat to the Witcher, she is quite protective of the man.

“I remember hearing stories about Witchers when I was a child,” Foltest began, glaring at the Witcher,” Is it true that the mutations that grant you your… abilities also erase your emotions?” - Naz flinched at the accusation, something Geralt acutely noted from the corner of his eye - “Must be. ‘Cause only a man devoid of all heart could accuse a brother of bedding hid murdered sister while urging him to kill her.”

Geralt looks down in defeat before sharing a glance with Naz, to whom he nodded. Naz sighed, but removed herself from the doors, and moved to join Geralt as the guards burst in, weapons pointed at the two of them. King Foltest glared at the two intensely before gesturing for the guards to stand down. Addressing the two warriors in front of him, his voice lowered in warning.

“Leave Temeria. Never return.”

Naz and Geralt gave the King an odd look before they both made their way out of the room in silence, each of them making brief eye contact with Triss before they left.

They did not leave Temeria, in fact, they were currently crouched behind a wall, gazing up at the two guards stationed at the entrance to the abandoned castle. While figuring out how to get past them, Geralt’s mind wanders to earlier, when Naz disappeared.

“Where the hell did you go?” Geralt asked, peering over his shoulder at Naz who was kneeling behind him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Earlier, at the mine, you vanished into thin air,” Geralt clarified,” Only to come back reeking of sorrow.”

“Oh,” Naz said, her mood instantly dropping,” I went to visit an old friend of mine.”

“An old friend?” Geralt inquired, sensing there was more to it, though he was much more gentle in his interrogation now that he was aware of how touchy the subject was.

“Well, lover,” Naz corrected, eyes now far off, caught up in memories,” She’s aged just like all humans do, and I came to visit her in her last moments.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Geralt offered his condolences, though he knew there wasn’t anything he could say to ease Naz’s sorrow.

Naz smiled sadly at the sentiment,” Thank you.”

The two were silent after that, neither sure what to say. They listen as the two guards have idle conversation above them, still thinking of ways to maneuver around them. Their silent scheming was interrupted, however, when Triss walked up behind them.

“You were told to leave Temeria.”

Geralt spared her a glance over his shoulder before gesturing to the area around them and muttering sarcastically,” But come on… these views.”

Naz snorted at the Witcher’s comment, still watching the guards.

“Are you going to kill her?” Triss inquired, ignoring Geralt’s cheek in favor of interrogating him on his intentions.

The two frown at her, before Geralt replies,” We don’t want the miners’ coin.”

“Or mine, apparently,” Triss gave Naz a pointed look, probably trying to silently convince her how ridiculous the two were being,” What is this girl to you? Why do you care?”

“You first,” Naz spoke, ignoring her,” I saw how Foltest and his boy spoke to you. Why help those who won’t listen?”

Triss only sighed before changing the topic of the conversation,” I’m sure someone as legendary as the two of you have already figured out several ways to get past Segelin’s guards.”

Geralt scanned the snow-covered ground around them before picking up a random stone and throwing it in the general direction of the castle. The noise startles the two guards above them on the bridge leading to the abandoned castle and they scurry away in fear. Naz turned back to the sorceress, a smirk on her face,” That legendary enough for you?”

Triss huffed a laugh at the woman, shaking her head before the trio made their way into the now unguarded castle. They enter a dark corridor, underbrush grown over the windows, dirt and bones littering the floor. Naz and Geralt immediately begin their investigation in silence, though Triss doesn’t seem to get the memo.

“Temeria reeks of secrets, I could sense them,” the sorceress spoke, avoiding the scattered skeletons on the ground,” Just like I could sense these bodies before we entered. I imagine you could sense them, too.”

The two warriors remain silent. Geralt tries to enter a room, only to find it locked, he shakes the door a few times before giving up and moving further down the corridor. Triss pauses in front of a portrait of two children.

“Foltest and Adda,” Triss identifies,” What happened to them?”

Neither of the warriors answers her, attuning their senses for anything out of the ordinary.

“Not answering questions is a pillar of your brooding charm,” the sorceress teased, though her expression shifted dramatically when all she received were unamused frowns. They had both glanced up at the portrait, sharing a look between them before Geralt addressed Triss.

“Pretty sure Foltest is the father.”

Triss blanched at the insinuation and looked to Naz to refute her partner’s claim, but received no reassurance from her that the Witcher was joking. The witch paused, glancing back at the portrait of the two children before catching up to the two warriors and following them up the stairs up to Princess Adda’s former room. The inside was covered in dust and cobwebs, a fallen candelabrum lay on its side towards the middle of the room. Off to the sides were stone brick walls and wood furniture that seemed to be fairing quite well despite being unused for years.

“Adda’s bedroom,” Triss stated,” Do you think he cursed her? Foltest?”

“Maybe,” Naz replied under her breath, inhaling deeply as she smells a familiar scent on the sheets, and internally recoils at how fresh it is. She shares a look with Geralt to see if he picked up the same, only to receive a small, almost imperceptible, nod from the man. While their exchange was occurring, Triss was messing around with a dusty music box, pulling on the keys until a secret drawer opens. Pulling out the contents, she finds letters addressed to Adda. Turning to the two monster hunters after a quick scan of the pages, she shares her finding.

“Naz, Geralt.” - Both of them glance over at her as she speaks - “ Letters. From Queen Sancia, Foltest and Adda’s mother.”

After this discovery, the trio swiftly returned to Triss’ laboratory, joined by Lord Ostrit, who read the letter himself.

“A Queen Mother cursing her own children for their affair,” Ostrit dropped the letters on top of one of Triss’ workbenches, knuckles wrapping on the wood before he leaned against it,” This could destroy the crown.”

“Sancia wanted Adda to get rid of the child,” Geralt confirmed, though his eyes were narrowed at the Lord’s back as leaned against the wall, Naz standing firm next to him a scowl also present on her face.

“Seems she refused,” Triss added,” Repeatedly.”

“And now she’s taken that curse with her to the grave,” Ostrit turned to face the trio, growing steadily more anxious from the looks he was receiving from the pair of monster hunters.

“You’ve served the family for decades,” Triss continued, oblivious to the tension between the other people in the room,” Was Sancia involved in dark sorcery of any kind?”

“No,” The lord quickly denied,” Of course not.”

“What was your relationship to Adda?” Geralt inquired, Naz listening in on the man’s heartbeat for any subtle changes.

“Well, I like to think she saw me as a confidant,” Ostrit replied,” And protector, even. We used to talk at great length about her troubles. She could be very naive.”

Geralt continued his interrogation, eyes flicking to Naz for a moment who shook her head, indicating he hadn’t lied so far,” She ever mention her brother?”

“Certainly not like this,” The lord gestured to the letter laying behind him.

“She was ashamed,” Triss offered, still unaware of the situation.

“Or she was frightened,” Ostrit countered,” What if the relationship was not… consensual?”

“Hmm,” Geralt glanced at Naz, who this time shook her head. _Lie_. Facing the lord, his eyebrows scrunched,” You think he raped Adda, then cursed the child to cover it up?”

“Well, kings have done more for less,” The lord was becoming more fidgety under Naz’s intense stare.

“True,” Geralt sighed,” There’s only one wrinkle though.” - The Witcher advanced on Lord Ostrit, inhaling - “ Your scent was on her sheets.”

“Geralt,” Triss attempted to intervene but was soon stopped by Naz holding her arm in front of her, shaking her head at the sorceress.

“Old ones… and new ones.”

The lord leaned as far back from Geralt as he could, gulping nervously,” What would I be doing in a dead girl’s bed?”

Geralt leered threateningly over the smaller man, disgust evident in his tone,” I _smelled_ what you were doing.”

The two men glared intensely at each other before the lord rushed to defend himself,” Foltest had no right!” - Geralt growled at him before turning away to face Naz as Ostrit continued his rant - “ He seduced Adda. Abused his position. He was always nagging her for attention. Always nagging! But he didn’t love her! I did.”

Naz scoffed, growling under her breath,” You cursed the woman you loved?”

“I cursed Foltest, not her,” The lord answered indignantly, as though that justified such means of revenge.

“Countless are dead because of your jealousy,” Triss cut in, horrified by the lord’s actions.

“Countless are dead because of Foltest!” Ostrit countered, growing more heated,” He spoiled Adda with his seed. He refuses to kill this Striga. He lies to his people. And yet you wag your finger in my face?”

“If you wanted him to suffer, you could have just exposed the affair,” Triss supplied, still reeling from the revelations that had occurred before her.

“And hurt Adda?” Ostrit was now leaning back against the bench, though this time it was to support himself as he was shaking in anger,” Never. Her memory will not be sullied, not while I’m alive to protect it.”

“Tell us how to lift the curse,” Geralt commanded, now standing next to a very tense Naz.

“No,” The lord refused, looking between the three of them in contempt,” Foltest will watch as Temeria turns against him. Just as he turned Adda against me.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, sparing Naz a glance, whose face had hardened into an intense glare. Before anyone in the room could stop her, the warrior decided she was quite done with Ostrit’s obstinance, so she strode forward and punched the lord in the face with enough force to knock him out. Geralt smirked at her while Triss looked startled by Naz’s abrupt nature. Naz quirked a brow at Triss’s shocked expression,” Triss, you should know that I can’t stand arrogant human men.”

The sorceress sighed,” Yes, I suppose I should.”

Geralt glanced between the two, now confused,” Do you two know each other?”

“It was many years ago,” Naz dismissed,” And we have more pressing matters to attend to now.”

They all glanced down at the unconscious lord at their feet, thinking about what to do with him. Sharing a glance with each other, Naz decided the silence was too long and hefted the Ostrit onto her shoulder with ease, not struggling at all with his weight. She turned to the other people in the room and after a beat of silence began to explain her plan. With that explained, Geralt and Naz made their way back to the still unguarded castle and tied Ostrit to Adda’s old bedposts where they would return for him with night fell. They left shortly after that, finding somewhere to lay low until the moon rose in the sky.

The sky was a shimmering onyx, gilded with stars, when Geralt and Naz returned to the abandoned castle, only to be met with the same unit of soldiers from the mine meant to stop them from entering. The two shared a look before drawing their swords, ready to use more physical methods to get inside this time. However, their advances were halted when Foltest himself parted the soldiers and strode forward.

“Oh so quick to violence,” The King addressed the two,” Strange, considering what Miss Merigold told me about you.”

“And what’s that?” grunted Geralt, sword still drawn.

“She told me… to trust you,” Foltest huffed a light chuckle, arms gesturing in disbelief before he stood directly in front of the warriors, voice lowering to a whisper,” Will this work? Answer honestly.”

“I don’t know,” Geralt answered, after sharing a glance with Naz.

“Will my…,” Foltest paused, fighting with himself on what he was about to say next,” Will my daughter… be normal?”

“She’ll need special care,” began Geralt while Naz returned her steel to her back, the soldiers holstering their own weapons,” She’d lived as an animal. All she’s ever known is… rage and hunger.”

It was quiet for several moments after Geralt had finished speaking, Foltest’s eyes focused on the ground. Geralt sighed, glancing back at Naz for a moment before turning to where he had laid his swords, returning the one he was holding to grab something from the bag. Naz’s eyes widened when she saw what it was, her eyes narrowing on Geralt’s figure returning, questions written across her face. Geralt held out Renfri’s brooch to Foltest, the King takes it from him, confusion drawn between his brows.

“What is this?”

“For the princess,” Geralt answered,” If we can lift the curse. A gift.”

“You’re giving me this because you do not expect to see morning,” Foltest rebuked, brooch still in hand.

“This isn’t our first time trying to save a princess who others see as a monster,” Geralt replied, Naz’s heart-tugging painfully at the memories, as she was sure was Geralt’s.

“What happened to that princess?” The King looked between the two, a slight smile on his face. Naz just lowered her head, while Geralt sighed again, looking seriously into Foltest’s eyes,” I killed her.”

Foltest’s smile was wiped from his face at this revelation and looked down for a moment in contemplation.

“I did try to resist, at first, with Adda. We both did,” Foltest explained, while the two just looked at him in pity,” For all it brightens, love casts long shadows.”

Naz and Geralt stared back at the King, thinking on their own experiences with such things, each agreeing with him in different ways.

“I envy you,” The King finished, glancing between them,” To live… and never have to fall in love.”

Naz didn’t bother to correct the King, knowing that despite their mostly emotionless expression, that each of them was reliving their own heartbreak. Though Naz knew that she had endured many in her long life, she also knew Geralt had experienced much the same. However, with those parting words, Foltest began to leave, his soldiers following him. Geralt grabbed his weaponry, Naz following him as he marched through the middle of the soldiers, headed straight for the castle. They headed straight for Adda’s old room where Lord Ostrit was finally regaining from Naz’s well-deserved punch. Naz, having stationed herself by the window to watch the moon, was not the first person the lord noticed in the room. 

“Witcher!” Ostrit yelled, blood spilling from his mouth,” This is madness! What are we doing here? What’s happening?”

Geralt ignores the lord in favor of asking his own question,” How can I lift the curse?”

“No, this is not right!” Ostrit objects,” Foltest must pay for what he did.”

“Explain that to her,” Naz peers at the lord over her shoulder, still facing the window.

“Carry me out,” Ostrit commands after a moment,” I order you.”

“Tell us how to lift the curse,” Geralt returns, stepping forwards to face him.

Ostrit looks away from the Witcher’s intense gaze before relenting,” She- She was hiding from the Brotherhood. She sold me a lamb.” - Naz maneuvers to stand behind Geralt, also glaring down at the lord - “ Sh- She told me to wait until a full moon, to wait and then kill it.” - Both warriors crouched down in front of Ostrit, listening intently - “And then I recited some silly chant. And then I bathed in the lamb’s blood until sunrise. Until the rooster crowed three times. And that was all, I swear. I swear. Now, please, let us leave.”

“What was the chant?” The two asked in unison, scaring Ostrit further.

“It was years ago,” Ostrit huffed, breath indicating his growing panic,” It was Elven. Um…”

The lord looked down as he struggled to remember but eventually begins to whisper that chant. Geralt and Naz paid careful attention to his hushed words, translating their meaning in their heads. Both of their eyes widened in realization as they looked at each other, Naz rushing to Geralt’s saddlebag to grab one of his potions, Lord Ostrit looking between them in confusion.

“Wh- what is it?” Ostrit’s panic grew as he watched them scramble about,” The- I- I’ve done what you’ve asked. What more can I do?”

“Nothing,” Naz growled, her red eyes glowed dangerously in the dark room,” Unless you can keep a Striga out of her crypt until the fucking rooster crows three times.”

Geralt swallowed the offered potion while Ostrit stared ahead in fear,” You’re gonna have to fight her till dawn.”

A horrifying screech echoed throughout the castle after Ostrit spoke. Naz and Geralt’s eyes met, his now entirely black from the potion before they made to leave the room. Ostrit called out to them when they didn’t release his bonds.

“No, no!” Ostrit tugged uselessly at the ropes tying him to the bed,” Come back here. Please. Please! You’d leave a man bound to die in such indignity?”

“You’re not a man,” Geralt replied, Naz on his heels as they finally exit the room to begin their plan.

The two listen as the Striga kill Ostrit, ripping out his intestines by the sound of it. Geralt had the chain in his arm while Naz had her steel sword, something that would do some damage but not kill the girl before they were, hopefully, able to cure her. Naz’s ears twitch a little as she hears the Striga lumber towards them, something dragging along the bone-littered ground beneath her. Eventually, the Striga appeared at the top of the stairs above them, releasing another screech before she began descending the stairs, snarling in their direction. When the Striga stopped on the landing, Geralt and Naz stepped out in front of her, Geralt dropping the chain’s end and swinging it around several times before he threw it at the creature, successfully trapping her in it. For about two seconds before the Striga broke free and lunged the rest of the way, tackling Geralt.

“Fuck.”

Naz leaped to the side, tucking into a roll as she landed, swiveling around to face the two wrestling on the ground. Geralt slips out from underneath the Striga, kicking her into the wall and swiftly joining Naz down the hallway.

“Well, that didn’t fucking work,” Naz remarked, Geralt glared at her shortly before returning his attention to the Striga who came rushing at them. Naz grabbed one of the creature’s extended arms, using its momentum to slam it into the wall at her side. The two warriors back away as the Striga began attacking again, successfully slamming Geralt into the wall opposite in retaliation. The Witcher fell on his knee hard before he threw Aard at the beast, sending it flying down the hallway. The three of them tangled for several minutes, Geralt grabbed a torch off the wall and got two good hits in before it was knocked from his hands and he was slammed around several walls, which eventually ended in Geralt’s sword being knocked from its sheath and the Creature wrestling with him again as Naz rushed towards them after being thrown into a couple of walls herself. Geralt slammed a sign into the floor, twice, before it broke, causing him and the Striga to fall into the floor below knocked out by the rubble. Naz uses this time to jump across the hole to grab Geralt’s sword until she peered over the edges of the chasm to gauge where they were. Jumping in, Naz landed gracefully next to Geralt’s already awakening figure. Geralt snapped up in alarm, discovering the Striga still unconscious, Naz on his other side holding his sword out to him. Geralt nodded at her in thanks, sheathing the sword at his back as he checked his side pack for another potion, only to find it had been destroyed in the fall.

“I figured something like that might happen,” Naz said, eyes on the broken bottle in Geralt’s hand,” Here.”

Naz reached into her breastplate, where she’d had a pocket sewn in pulling out another of Geralt’s potion. She held it out to him, while he stared at her slowly accepting the proffered item. Popping the cork, Geralt drank it swiftly, his eyes rapidly turning from saffron to black. Geralt then made his way to the crypt’s broken gate, setting barrier spell, effectively trapping them inside with the Striga. Naz noticed Geralt leaning against the nearby wall for support and rushed to his side, knowing that, despite his enhancements, his tolerance for injury was still much lower than hers. Geralt waves her off, though they both become highly alert when they notice the Striga had moved. They walk away from the gate cautiously, heightened senses attuned to the slightest disturbance in the air. The Striga jumps at them from the ceiling, knocking both of them to the ground, though the creature seems to have a particular focus on Geralt. Naz is still too disoriented to help when the Striga picks up the Witcher and throws him into a column. The creature is successful in slamming him into another one before she attempts to leave the crypt, only to be blown back by the barrier spell. The creature screeches when she gets back up, attacking the barrier before returning her anger to Geralt. He, however, is prepared this time and punched the Striga back, silver knuckles slid over his fingers making it a highly effective attack. Naz, having recovered, approaches the still creature, only to stumble back as the Striga slashes her claws at the warrior. The creature lumbers toward the two on all fours while they both prepare to defend themselves, only for the light of down to creep down from the hole in the crypt’s roof. For a moment they all look at each other before they began racing towards the open stone coffin, each hoping to reach it first. Luckily Geralt knocks the creature aside before crawling in, Naz following a second behind, closing the lid before the Striga has a chance to get to it. Geralt casts another barrier spell, a flash of blue lighting up their figures temporarily, listening to the creature wail above them, desperately attempting to enter. It was then that Geralt noticed two glowing red dots above him.

“This should have been our original plan,” huffed Naz, her eyes flickering down, the red dots. Geralt normally would have laughed, but he was not only exhausted by the events of the past night but stunned by the realization that Naz’s eyes were glowing. 

“Your eyes…” Geralt observed,” They’re…”

“Glowing?” Naz provided, chuckling at the Witcher’s surprise,” Yeah, I’ve already told you, Geralt, I’m not human.”

“I know,” Geralt confirmed,” I just thought it was a trick of the night, I didn’t think they actually glowed.”

Naz didn’t reply as it had gone eerily silent around them, her eyes flitted around the coffin,” Do you hear that?”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly.”

Geralt released the barrier spell and Naz cautiously removes the stone lid of the coffin, getting out of it, helping Geralt out shortly afterward. The sunlight now illuminated the chamber where the two warriors’ eyes landing on the dirty and shivering figure of a young woman. Geralt walked forward first to investigate, ripping a piece of destroyed armor off his left shoulder, Naz staying a few feet behind in case something happened. Kneeling down, Geralt gently laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder, turning her over slightly. The girl’s frightened eyes meet his for a moment before she attacks, claws descending from her fingertips. The girl crawls on top of Geralt, trying to tear into him, but the Witcher wraps a hand around the back of her neck, tearing off a piece as she does the same. Naz rushes forward shoving the girl off, but by then it was too late. Geralt glares intensely at the newly cured princess as he succumbs to wounds. He can vaguely hear Naz above him, calling out his name, before he loses consciousness. 

“Geralt...Geralt…”

He drifts in and out of consciousness for several hours, suffering some delirium from his injuries. He can Renfri’s voice echo about. _The girl in the woods will be with you always_. Naz’s concerned gaze appears above him, his name falling from her lips. He vaguely remembers the sensation of someone dragging wet cloth across his skin. _People call you a monster too_. He hears the muffled sounds of two people moving about, having a hushed conversation. _You choose…_

“Renfri…”

Geralt wakes up, startled, groaning shortly afterward in pain. A figure, Triss, stands at the foot of his bed, turning around as he grunts. Triss smiles at him,” Your scars. You heal quite nicely. Your will to live is strong.”

He notices Naz, asleep in the chair next to him, his panic lessening at her presence. Turning back to Triss, Geralt asks,” The princess?”

“I’ve arranged for her to stay a while with the Sisters of Melitele,” Triss informs, leaning against her workbench.

“But… I… Her neck?” Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed in thought, Naz beginning to stir next to him at the sound of his voice.

“She’ll heal, too.”

Geralt leaned back against the pillow in relief. Naz, now fully awake next to him, meets his eyes and they engage in silent conversation for a moment before Naz sighed and nodded, glad to know he was okay.

“You should know,” Triss spoke again after their exchange,” Foltest issued a statement. The honorable Lord Ostrit gave his life to slay the vukodlak. Miners are gathering ore for a statue.” - Geralt and Naz share expressions of disgruntlement as Geralt moves to sit up - “Anyone else would’ve killed the princess. You chose not to.”

“I’ll take my coin now,” Geralt informed, Naz supporting him slightly,” I need to get back to my horse.”

“Who’s Renfri?” Triss inquired, noticing the startled expressions she received from the question,” Hers was the only name you uttered over and over in your sleep.”

Neither of them answers her, Geralt, specifically, avoiding the question,” My coin.”

“So that’s all life it to you?” Triss asks, stepping away from her workbench,” Monsters and money?”

“That’s all it needs to be,” Geralt replied, sharing a sideways glance with Naz before meeting Triss’ eyes.

Triss sits down in front of them on a second chair, coin in hand, while she gazes between them, the disbelief clear in her eyes.

“You say that’s all life is to you, but there is a vortex of fate around all of us, growing with each and every one of our choices… drawing our destinies in closer,” Triss hands Geralt the coin purse, Renfri’s brooch sticking out from that top, Geralt clenches it in his hand, not meeting either woman’s eyes,” I feel something out there waits for you. Something more.”

Naz and Geralt share a knowing glance, Renfri’s words resurfacing in their heads. _The girl in the woods will be with you always. She is your destiny._

-

Hushed voices whisper all around her, causing her to shake in fear during her slumber. A crow caws in the distance, startling her awake as she rushes to her feet at the sound. Her head whips all around the forest before she feels it, the pulling sensation at her back. She turns around slowly, her face blank, as she begins to walk forward as if in a trance. The force, whatever it is, is calling to her, beckoning her closer. The snow crunches under her feet as she steps out of the forest and into the clearing, heading towards another thicket of trees. The voices are slightly louder, now she can understand them. They whisper her name.

_Ciri… Ciri…_

Dara wakes up slowly, at first, blinking the last of the sleep from his eyes, only for them to widen in alarm when he notices Ciri is gone. He stands up quickly, eyes scanning the forest for any sign of her, and, as if he could feel the direction she went, he ran along the path out of the forest. He finds her moments later heading towards the trees on the opposite side of the clearing. Dara calls out to her several times, but she does not acknowledge his voice, only treading onward to the other side of the clearing. Before he can move to stop her, an arrow comes flying out of the trees, the first one he dodges but the second one pins Dara to the snowy ground by his shoulder. He cries out in pain, but it goes unheard by the girl, her senses focused on the forest in front of her. It was then that the Elven boy noticed the skeletons littered around the clearing, his concern for Ciri’s well-being growing exponentially. 

But Ciri was ignorant to all of this as the forest continued to beckon her closer, the whispers of her name surrounding her, growing louder with each step she took closer. She comes to stop in front of a vaguely circular opening in the trees, the voices harshly beating on her ears now.

_Ciri… Ciri… Ciri…_

As though she had no will of her own, she enters the dark forest, the force tugging at her gut, drawing her in closer.


End file.
